Featured this month is a bookmark story for real life adventurer "Kate K." Kate was in her 70's, or close, when she had this adventure in Maine! Her friend Marilyn, a high school buddy of hers, put Kate in the Book Woman Club after buying a blank bookmark as a gift for her at Plowshares. Welcome to the Book Woman Club - "Kate K."! Of course, she is now mine, a fictionalized character with embellishments from my imagination! But all imagination begins with a spark of truth....doesn't it?
Hand, and then hand. Knee, and then knee, she crawled. She could see the river in-between the missing floor boards. It rushed by beneath her and would win the race, arriving at it's destiny long before her 70 year old,(or so), knees carried her to the other side of the bridge! Her knees screamed and her hands protested. She ignored them and pressed on. Kate was scared, but determined to keep up with the group. They walked and she crawled. They were younger, and she had a life of adventure carved into the joints of her body. Hand and then hand, she crawled. Knee followed knee.
A memory flashed and she was back in high school with her friend Marilyn. Marilyn should be here! Their adventures together often involved crawling! They'd be late to Art Class, (what was that teacher's name?), and they would silently tip-toe to the classroom door and drop quietly to their knees. They would then crawl slowly, pressing an occasional finger to their lips to hush the class tattle-tellers into not telling, and hug the ground all the way to their desks. Hand over hand, knees following knees. They would then rise up behind their desks, like giant octopuses rising up out of a churning and ancient sea. The teacher never noticed! Never caught them! He was so without a clue!
Kate's hands dragged each other over the floor boards while her knees followed. Suddenly, reptilian eyes met hers and she stopped in mid-crawl, her left knee balanced above wood. Her hands trembled as they held her weight over air filled floor slates. Kate's heart quickened it's already fear magnified rate. And with no other weapons in site, Kate's imagination took up her cause and she was a genie, the genie in the lamp from Aladdin. Her head was huge! Her hands and knees began to melting into vapor. The bridge became her lamp and it's end up ahead - her freedom from it's bondage. The art teacher from once-upon-a-time in that long ago class, (what was his name?), had them make paper mache masks of the characters from the Aladdin story. Huge masks that ate up a classroom-year's ration of paper. She and her friend Marilyn were sent on a secret mission to steal all of the toilet paper from the janitor's supply closet when the paper ran out. The class had finished the masks with bunches of toilet paper and flour. They had even performed the Aladdin play at the end of class and Mr. What's-His Name got his Doctorate from those masks that they had made!
Kate raised her Aladdin head and faced the snake. It hissed as she crawled forward. Hand, and then hand, knee, and then knee. She crawled forward.....
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
"Happy Thanksgiving"
Happy Thanksgiving from the members of the Book Woman Club! They won't be meeting Saturday because of the Holiday. (Spending time with their families....all except Erica. She is...well, you'll have to wait for her next blog entry!) The Book Woman Club will meet again, next week!
In the meantime, have a wonderful holiday! Remember...calories don't count on holidays. Count all your blessings and then count them again. Thank God for those blessings. No matter how hard life hits you, someone else is going thorugh more. Enjoy family and friends. We are not guarenteed another day on this planet, so love those around you and love yourself.
Isn't Life an Adventure! Vanessa
In the meantime, have a wonderful holiday! Remember...calories don't count on holidays. Count all your blessings and then count them again. Thank God for those blessings. No matter how hard life hits you, someone else is going thorugh more. Enjoy family and friends. We are not guarenteed another day on this planet, so love those around you and love yourself.
Isn't Life an Adventure! Vanessa
Saturday, November 19, 2011
"Alsha"
Dear Readers: "Alsha' is a character that joined the club in 2007. There are three Book Woman Club book marks that with stories about Alsha that were bought between 2007 and 2008. If you own a Book Woman Club book mark with a fragment of her story, now you can fill in the blanks. Here's where her story begins, and time will tell where it ends! Enjoy!
The Book Woman Club was beginning their review of The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Miss Adella was hosting the meeting and Alsha shifted her body, uncomfortable, sitting on a hard dinning room chair in the circle of woman. The seat was made of hard wood and badly needed a cushion. She looked around at the older women in the room, all of them seated comfortably on sofa's and stuffed chairs in Miss Adella's living room. Alsha had arrived late and did not get her pick of seating. She sat in the last available chair, next to her friend Nia. Her arrival time probably wouldn't have changed her comfort. Most of the younger women in the book club were seated on chairs as unbending as Alsha's. Besides, Alsha knew that she would have willingly given up padded seating to an elder, without being asked. She remembered an old African proverb. Something about the duty of the Children was to take care of the Elders. And...some of these older women still had the talent to intimidate you with the cut of an eye! These elders practiced "the look", an important tool of rule used by the "old school". One did not dare challenge "the look"! It shamed you into compliance and ordered your behavior with fear. Alsha shifted again, first catching the eye of Nia and then Khadi-jah. They nodded to one-another, Khadija rolling her eyes and Nia winking. They passed silent sympathy, each recognizing the discomfort of the other and acknowledged, with resignation, that their behinds would ache for a week!
Alsha was late because she had been in heavy debate with herself. She wasn't going to come to this Book Woman Club meeting. In fact, Alsha had been debating on skipping several meetings, ever since the club had decided to review The Bluest Eye. She loved Toni Morrison's writing, and had read most of her novels. She had cried through Beloved and Song of Solomon. She had stayed up all night to read Sula, her favorite of Morrison's books, in one sitting. She had found Tar Baby more difficult to get through, reading the opening chapter twice. She had read Love and Jazz. Paradise and A Mercy. She had even read two of Toni Morrison's non-fiction works; Playing in the Dark and Race-ing Justice. But Alsha had avoided reading
The Bluest Eye. Over the years, Alsha had picked the book up off the shelf at Barnes and Noble several times. Had read the jacket notes and the back page reviews. Had fingered the paperback edition and had measured the weight of the hardback edition in her hands. And then Alsha had put the The Bluest Eye back on the stores shelf. She just couldn't bring herself to buy it; to read it. She couldn't bring herself to turn the pages of this book about a little girl who wished for blue eyes. It was just too painful.
Lorrie was opening the review of The Bluest Eye after, as was the privilege of the member hosting the meeting, Miss Adella read aloud from a passage in the book. Lorrie had a Doctorate in Literature and was the only published member of the Book Woman Club. The members of The Book Woman Club enjoyed Lorrie's expertise and counted on her to get the discussion going. "In the novel, Pecola wanting blue eyes is a commentary on the notion that the white social beauty standard, having blue eyes, makes you beautiful and that beauty makes you privilege to happiness. Pecola is described as ugly. Her family is ugly. Where they live is ugly. Her world is ugly. If she has blue eyes Pecola believes that she will be seen by others as beautiful. If she has blue eyes, Pecola will be able to see the world as beautiful." Rose-ann continued tugging at the theme of the inside-outside point of view from Pecola's blue eyes. "The "eye" is an important symbol in this novel. The eye is symbolic for Pecola's perspective on life. Her "point of view". Eyes can symbolize enlightenment or blindness. The truth or a distortion of the truth. This is the reality of the un-reality of Pecola's eyes. When Pecola believes that her eyes are blue, bluer than the bluest eyes, she is insane. Pecola's insanity reflects the insanity of America's white standard of beauty and how it is so destructive to our black children." Bessie Davis Hudson answering comment faded into the background of Alsha's troubled thoughts.
Alsha's shifted again in the hard chair as her discomfort grew. The discomfort of her body and the discomfort of her thoughts began to overwhelm her. Her eyes began to blink, faster and faster, as she fought back tears. How could Pecola every think that blue eyes could ever bring her happiness? Alsha focused on the back of her ebony black hands. They floated in the water of her tears, her skin swimming as she held her hands still. Nia, who was sitting next to her, covered Alsha's hand with her blue-black ones. Alsha looked up, her face a mirror of pain as she tried to focus on Nia's dark brown eyes with her royal blue ones.
The Book Woman Club was beginning their review of The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Miss Adella was hosting the meeting and Alsha shifted her body, uncomfortable, sitting on a hard dinning room chair in the circle of woman. The seat was made of hard wood and badly needed a cushion. She looked around at the older women in the room, all of them seated comfortably on sofa's and stuffed chairs in Miss Adella's living room. Alsha had arrived late and did not get her pick of seating. She sat in the last available chair, next to her friend Nia. Her arrival time probably wouldn't have changed her comfort. Most of the younger women in the book club were seated on chairs as unbending as Alsha's. Besides, Alsha knew that she would have willingly given up padded seating to an elder, without being asked. She remembered an old African proverb. Something about the duty of the Children was to take care of the Elders. And...some of these older women still had the talent to intimidate you with the cut of an eye! These elders practiced "the look", an important tool of rule used by the "old school". One did not dare challenge "the look"! It shamed you into compliance and ordered your behavior with fear. Alsha shifted again, first catching the eye of Nia and then Khadi-jah. They nodded to one-another, Khadija rolling her eyes and Nia winking. They passed silent sympathy, each recognizing the discomfort of the other and acknowledged, with resignation, that their behinds would ache for a week!
Alsha was late because she had been in heavy debate with herself. She wasn't going to come to this Book Woman Club meeting. In fact, Alsha had been debating on skipping several meetings, ever since the club had decided to review The Bluest Eye. She loved Toni Morrison's writing, and had read most of her novels. She had cried through Beloved and Song of Solomon. She had stayed up all night to read Sula, her favorite of Morrison's books, in one sitting. She had found Tar Baby more difficult to get through, reading the opening chapter twice. She had read Love and Jazz. Paradise and A Mercy. She had even read two of Toni Morrison's non-fiction works; Playing in the Dark and Race-ing Justice. But Alsha had avoided reading
The Bluest Eye. Over the years, Alsha had picked the book up off the shelf at Barnes and Noble several times. Had read the jacket notes and the back page reviews. Had fingered the paperback edition and had measured the weight of the hardback edition in her hands. And then Alsha had put the The Bluest Eye back on the stores shelf. She just couldn't bring herself to buy it; to read it. She couldn't bring herself to turn the pages of this book about a little girl who wished for blue eyes. It was just too painful.
Lorrie was opening the review of The Bluest Eye after, as was the privilege of the member hosting the meeting, Miss Adella read aloud from a passage in the book. Lorrie had a Doctorate in Literature and was the only published member of the Book Woman Club. The members of The Book Woman Club enjoyed Lorrie's expertise and counted on her to get the discussion going. "In the novel, Pecola wanting blue eyes is a commentary on the notion that the white social beauty standard, having blue eyes, makes you beautiful and that beauty makes you privilege to happiness. Pecola is described as ugly. Her family is ugly. Where they live is ugly. Her world is ugly. If she has blue eyes Pecola believes that she will be seen by others as beautiful. If she has blue eyes, Pecola will be able to see the world as beautiful." Rose-ann continued tugging at the theme of the inside-outside point of view from Pecola's blue eyes. "The "eye" is an important symbol in this novel. The eye is symbolic for Pecola's perspective on life. Her "point of view". Eyes can symbolize enlightenment or blindness. The truth or a distortion of the truth. This is the reality of the un-reality of Pecola's eyes. When Pecola believes that her eyes are blue, bluer than the bluest eyes, she is insane. Pecola's insanity reflects the insanity of America's white standard of beauty and how it is so destructive to our black children." Bessie Davis Hudson answering comment faded into the background of Alsha's troubled thoughts.
Alsha's shifted again in the hard chair as her discomfort grew. The discomfort of her body and the discomfort of her thoughts began to overwhelm her. Her eyes began to blink, faster and faster, as she fought back tears. How could Pecola every think that blue eyes could ever bring her happiness? Alsha focused on the back of her ebony black hands. They floated in the water of her tears, her skin swimming as she held her hands still. Nia, who was sitting next to her, covered Alsha's hand with her blue-black ones. Alsha looked up, her face a mirror of pain as she tried to focus on Nia's dark brown eyes with her royal blue ones.
Monday, November 14, 2011
"Carmen"
Carmen circled the block, driving up James Street for the fifth time, and then headed back down Shotwell Park to Bessie Davis Hudson's house. She pulled into Bessie's driveway and left her red vintage Mustang running. Bessie's screen door was open, and Carmen knocked. Bessie came to the door, her face deep lined with concern. Carmen pushed the screen when Bessie unlocked it and followed behind her. Carmen began to pass back and forth through Bessie's living room "Did you find her, dear?" "No, Miss Bessie, I didn't find her. I drove all the way down James Street and through downtown. I've been up and down Tealle Ave. a bunch of times. I even went to the Shop City Mall and checked every store and restaurant, including the McDonalds. None of the clerks I talked to remember seeing Erica." "I'm sorry to bother you, dear, but I know you're her best friend and I thought you might know where she was." Bessie sat down in her comfy chair and took her shoes off. As she reached down to rub her swollen ankles, Bessie watched Carmen's feet as they began to mat a path through her worn living room carpet. She really needed to scrap some money together to replace it. Maybe it was time to redecorate, Bessie thought, as she surveyed the room. Most of the furnishings were over 50 years old, some from Bessie's mother's and grandmother's homes! She had brought all the furniture up with her from Darlington, South Carolina, when she moved to Syracuse. Bessie's eyes caught up with Carmen's as Carmen turned back towards Bessie on her path across the carpet.
"She was looking for you, my dear, at the Book Woman Club Meeting. She told us she was supposed to get a ride from you. She waited for about fifteen minutes to see if you might stop by and pick her up even though you didn't make it to the meeting and then she took off walking." Bessie sat up from her feet and placed her hand over her heart. "I didn't see any reason to say something to her about walking! It was a beautiful, sunny day! Lot's of people out and about!" Bessie placed her other hand over the hand that rested on her heart. "This neighborhood is usually so safe!" Carmen stopped her pacing and knelt in front of Bessie. "Now, Ms. Bessie! Everything is going to be alright! We're going to find Erica. This is not your fault! You had no reason to think that she wouldn't be safe walking home. Erica is a grown woman, Ms. Bessie." "I know she's grown, dear, but being grown doesn't mean we don't need a little mothering! It's just that she seems to be such a fragile little thing. All those children...and that husband of hers..." Bessie's tongue clucked at the air. "I've called all the hospitals and they say they don't have a record of an Erica Gonzales being admitted to any of them. I am really worried, dear. We need to find her before that husband finds her!" "If this is anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have been at the meeting! I should have been here to take her home!" Carmen stood up, turning her back to Bessie and looked out the living room window at the fading day's light. "Tell me, what exactly did Pedro say to you?"
Bessie paused, the frown on her face reflecting her distasteful interaction with Erica's husband. "Well, he drove up at about 5:00 and sat in the driveway, blowing his horn! Just kept blowing it, over and over again like some rude teenager picking up a date he has no respect for! I finally went to the door, when I realized that the horn was blowing from my driveway! Neighbors were looking out the windows and the gentleman next door, Mr. Thompson, came out of his house and asked me if I was alright! Such a nice man, mows my lawn for me without charging any thing, and he takes my trash cans down to the street every Monday night without me asking the favor! I told him that I was alright and I walked over to that van. It was just full of children! Erica's husband jumped out of the van demanded that I have Carmen come out of the house and get in the car! I told him that she had long left and he demanded to know the time. I told him that she left walking sometime after 3:00 and he snapped that she was supposed to be home at 3:30. He demanded that I tell him where she went! I told him that as far as I knew, she was heading home. Then he took a step towards me, shook his fist at me and yelled that if she were at home, he wouldn't be talking to some old Biddie about where his wife was! He ordered me to tell her that she better, please excuse the language, dear, get her a-s-s home before he found her! He jumped in the car, screamed for the kids to shut-up, slammed the car into drive and backed out the driveway right over my bed of marigolds! I was so mad that I was shaking! By then Mr. Thompson had walked over to stand next to me, afraid that man was going to attack me, and he helped me into the house!" "He didn't say where he was going next to look for her?" Carmen asked, turning around, worry lines etched around her corners of her mouth. "I didn't get a chance to ask! I'm really worried about Erica, Carmen! I'm worried that her husband will find her." "Me too, Bessie! Me too!" Carmen walked over to Bessie, kissed her on the cheek and murmured, "Don't worry. I'll find her. Or I'll find Pedro before he finds her." She walked out the door before Bessie could caution her to stay clear of Pedro. Bessie sat very still in the now night-shadowed living room. Then she stood up on her swollen ankles, walked over to the end table next to her couch, picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
"She was looking for you, my dear, at the Book Woman Club Meeting. She told us she was supposed to get a ride from you. She waited for about fifteen minutes to see if you might stop by and pick her up even though you didn't make it to the meeting and then she took off walking." Bessie sat up from her feet and placed her hand over her heart. "I didn't see any reason to say something to her about walking! It was a beautiful, sunny day! Lot's of people out and about!" Bessie placed her other hand over the hand that rested on her heart. "This neighborhood is usually so safe!" Carmen stopped her pacing and knelt in front of Bessie. "Now, Ms. Bessie! Everything is going to be alright! We're going to find Erica. This is not your fault! You had no reason to think that she wouldn't be safe walking home. Erica is a grown woman, Ms. Bessie." "I know she's grown, dear, but being grown doesn't mean we don't need a little mothering! It's just that she seems to be such a fragile little thing. All those children...and that husband of hers..." Bessie's tongue clucked at the air. "I've called all the hospitals and they say they don't have a record of an Erica Gonzales being admitted to any of them. I am really worried, dear. We need to find her before that husband finds her!" "If this is anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have been at the meeting! I should have been here to take her home!" Carmen stood up, turning her back to Bessie and looked out the living room window at the fading day's light. "Tell me, what exactly did Pedro say to you?"
Bessie paused, the frown on her face reflecting her distasteful interaction with Erica's husband. "Well, he drove up at about 5:00 and sat in the driveway, blowing his horn! Just kept blowing it, over and over again like some rude teenager picking up a date he has no respect for! I finally went to the door, when I realized that the horn was blowing from my driveway! Neighbors were looking out the windows and the gentleman next door, Mr. Thompson, came out of his house and asked me if I was alright! Such a nice man, mows my lawn for me without charging any thing, and he takes my trash cans down to the street every Monday night without me asking the favor! I told him that I was alright and I walked over to that van. It was just full of children! Erica's husband jumped out of the van demanded that I have Carmen come out of the house and get in the car! I told him that she had long left and he demanded to know the time. I told him that she left walking sometime after 3:00 and he snapped that she was supposed to be home at 3:30. He demanded that I tell him where she went! I told him that as far as I knew, she was heading home. Then he took a step towards me, shook his fist at me and yelled that if she were at home, he wouldn't be talking to some old Biddie about where his wife was! He ordered me to tell her that she better, please excuse the language, dear, get her a-s-s home before he found her! He jumped in the car, screamed for the kids to shut-up, slammed the car into drive and backed out the driveway right over my bed of marigolds! I was so mad that I was shaking! By then Mr. Thompson had walked over to stand next to me, afraid that man was going to attack me, and he helped me into the house!" "He didn't say where he was going next to look for her?" Carmen asked, turning around, worry lines etched around her corners of her mouth. "I didn't get a chance to ask! I'm really worried about Erica, Carmen! I'm worried that her husband will find her." "Me too, Bessie! Me too!" Carmen walked over to Bessie, kissed her on the cheek and murmured, "Don't worry. I'll find her. Or I'll find Pedro before he finds her." She walked out the door before Bessie could caution her to stay clear of Pedro. Bessie sat very still in the now night-shadowed living room. Then she stood up on her swollen ankles, walked over to the end table next to her couch, picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Friday, November 11, 2011
"Dee-Dee"
Dee-Dee cupped her hands around her cup of hot coffee. She stared at its caramel depths, its color reminding her of the skin that she and her husband Christopher dreamed their son or daughter would have. If they ever were blessed with children, they dreamed of how it would be a combination of both of them...a little African-American DNA and a little European-American DNA. Their children would be a genetic mixing of the two of them; Dee-Dee's full nose, Christopher's green eyes, Dee-Dee's lush lips, Christoper's square chin. A human equality puzzle that fit together perfectly...a new race, who by the power of its presence, would end all the racism in America. She and Christoper dreamed that one day in America, everyone would be one color. One day. Dee-Dee sighed as she heard her father's voice mocking her, bouncing around inside of her head. "You never know what fruit will fall from the DNA tree!" The pragmatic part of Dee-Dee's brain knew that in the unpredictable world of DNA, their child could come out looking like Alsha, a young woman in the Book Woman Club. She had deliciously-dark ebony black skin, a button nose, thin lips and blue eyes! Her mother and father both had light brown skin. DNA had it's own agenda! Still, Dee-Dee could dream a world where the far edges of each race faded away and where, then, there would be no more need for divisive racial definitions.
"Look, Georgia...I'm sorry! I should have prepared you for the Book Woman Club! I should have told you that you were going to be the only white woman there and that there would be opposition to you attendance! It wasn't fair of me to invite you to the meeting and use you like a pawn in my private agenda to shake those women up! I was wrong, and I really am sorry!." "I don't understand, Dee-Dee! What did you think I would do if you had told me I was going to be the only white person there?" "You wouldn't have come!" "Your wrong, I would have come!" Dee-Dee cocked her head to one side, raised an eyebrow and stared at Georgia. "Well...maybe not! But I would have at least asked you if the other women would be open to me coming or if they would have been offended." Georgia thought for a minute and then said, "I would probably have come if you had been able to say that they wouldn't have minded me being there!" Georgia took a long sip of her coffee and set the cup down. "You knew my being there was going to be a problem!" "I said I was sorry, Georgia!" Dee-Dee took her friends hand. "Please, forgive me!" Georgia wrapped her hands around Dee-Dee's hand. "Five Starbucks visits and you pay!" "Four", Dee-Dee counter offered. "Five! There will be no negotiating." Georgia released Dee-Dee's hand and held up five fingers. Dee-Dee smiled and said, "O.k....Five!" They both went back to their cups of coffee and pulled at the ragged edges of this society woven out of so many varied textured yarns and sewn together with so many different colored threads; the cloth thread bare and stretched out of shape in the tug of was of competing components. Dee-Dee looked at her chocolate brown hand wrapped around her coffee cup and then glanced over at Georgia's pale pink hand holding her cup. And idea began to take hold in Dee-Dee's head and it began to drip from her mouth.
"You know, Georgia...we can be sitting in the same room, at the same time, at the same table, eating the same food, right next to each other, and our experience as an African-Americans and as a European-American will be very different." "So, I'm a "European-American."!" Georgia grinned ear to ear. They had been through this race title-exchange over and over again. "I thought I was human." "Well, that's what you say you are!" Dee-Dee stuck her tongue out at Georgia and laughed. Georgia crossed her eyes and said in a mechanical voice, "I am from planet Zercon and I come in peace!" They laughed loudly together, causing heads in the coffee shop to turn. Mouths covered, their laughter quieted to giggles. "I know, I know!" Georgia laughed softly, "Black and White are just "colors". It is our heritage that defines us! The world according to Dee-Dee!" "Serious, Georgia. Be serious with me, just for a few minutes. I'd like to play this game with you, for a few weeks. Might give you some ideas for your writing and information for my Diversity Training Workshops." Outside of her work at the museum, Dee-Dee conducted Diversity Training Workshops for Non-Profits and Corporate Institutions. "O.K.", Georgia responded, curious. "What is this game that you want to play?" "Let's play, "What was Different?" Dee-Dee's brown eyes met Georgia's blues. "The game's called "What was Different"? How's it played?" "We'll, I'm kinda making it up as we sit here." Georgia laughed. "O....K! How do we play this game that you are making up as we sit here?" Dee-Dee laughed and said, "Well...we go places together...like the mall, or a grocery store. Dinner. Here, places like this Starbucks, and if something happens to me that I feel is because of my color, I ask you, "What was Different?" You report on your experience, right then and there, and tell me the story of what is going at that time and place and if you think my experience is different from yours. Then I'll tell you my interpretation of the very same experience and we can compare notes." Georgia thought for a moment and slowly nodded her head. "O.K. This might be interesting. Only I get to initiate the same senerio if I thing that something is different in my experience that is not the same in your experience because I am white." "European-American"! Dee-Dee countered. "And I don't think there will be many times that you are treated differently because you are white!" "Oh, you mean like I wasn't treated "differently" at the Book Woman Club meeting?" Georgia jutted her jaw forward and hung her head to the side. "Huh? This can be our "Looking Glass" adventure!" Georgia folded her arms across her chest. "Looking glass adventure? What are you talking about?" Dee-Dee frowned in confusion. Georgia threw both hands up in the air. "You know, Alice stepping through the looking glass! Each of us stepping through the invisible boundary that separates our worlds in the racial divide of America. I know you're looking at this game as some eye opening life exercise for me, but I'm throwing that expectation right back at 'cha! I think you are going to be just as surprised as I am by the results this game of yours. You get a front row view of "White-World", I mean, "Euro-World" just like I'm gonna get an inside look at "African-American World". Dee-Dee rolled her eyes. "Believe me, I know more about "Euro-World" than you'll ever know about my world. We are inundated with European culture from the day that we are born. Television commercials and ads about your hair, your sun tan lotion, your families, your movies about the inner-sanctums of Wall Street where we will never gain full entry ..."Euro-World" and it's values, privileges and entitlements served up on a silver platter just beyond our reach." "Soft Sheen Hair Relaxer commercials, Cover girl's Queen Latifa, and the Cosby's - a middle class family of color! And are you going to tell me that there are no African-American stock brokers?" Georgia countered. Dee-Dee leaned forward, stabbing an index finger in the air like a sword. "Commercials recruiting us to meet the European model of beauty, and the Cosby Show has been in re-runs, how long? All I see are sitcoms where we're back to the stereotype of the minstrel player - the clown with little depth and masked humanity. That's why I don't watch T.V. anymore! And I don't see many brothers having access to the kind of power that European men have in those Fortune Five Hundred Companies controlling the wealth of America! You have a lot to learn in this game we are about to play, Georgia! You want to act like the world is all equal now and that everyone has the same access to power and opportunity, to the "white-boy network"! " Dee-Dee's index and middle fingers from both hands made quote signs in the air between her and Georgia. "Really, so that's what I think, huh - Dee-Dee? And who's producing today's television minstrel players?" Dee-Dee bristled. "I'm not naming names, but he sure isn't white! Maybe you need to take a closer look at yourself and your own assessment of some issues, Dee! Access to power and opportunity? I'm single, my dad's dead and I have no brothers or uncles! I'm not the one married to the "white-boy network"!" Georgia's index fingers slashed the air and mirrored Dee-Dee's fading air graffiti.
"Look, Georgia...I'm sorry! I should have prepared you for the Book Woman Club! I should have told you that you were going to be the only white woman there and that there would be opposition to you attendance! It wasn't fair of me to invite you to the meeting and use you like a pawn in my private agenda to shake those women up! I was wrong, and I really am sorry!." "I don't understand, Dee-Dee! What did you think I would do if you had told me I was going to be the only white person there?" "You wouldn't have come!" "Your wrong, I would have come!" Dee-Dee cocked her head to one side, raised an eyebrow and stared at Georgia. "Well...maybe not! But I would have at least asked you if the other women would be open to me coming or if they would have been offended." Georgia thought for a minute and then said, "I would probably have come if you had been able to say that they wouldn't have minded me being there!" Georgia took a long sip of her coffee and set the cup down. "You knew my being there was going to be a problem!" "I said I was sorry, Georgia!" Dee-Dee took her friends hand. "Please, forgive me!" Georgia wrapped her hands around Dee-Dee's hand. "Five Starbucks visits and you pay!" "Four", Dee-Dee counter offered. "Five! There will be no negotiating." Georgia released Dee-Dee's hand and held up five fingers. Dee-Dee smiled and said, "O.k....Five!" They both went back to their cups of coffee and pulled at the ragged edges of this society woven out of so many varied textured yarns and sewn together with so many different colored threads; the cloth thread bare and stretched out of shape in the tug of was of competing components. Dee-Dee looked at her chocolate brown hand wrapped around her coffee cup and then glanced over at Georgia's pale pink hand holding her cup. And idea began to take hold in Dee-Dee's head and it began to drip from her mouth.
"You know, Georgia...we can be sitting in the same room, at the same time, at the same table, eating the same food, right next to each other, and our experience as an African-Americans and as a European-American will be very different." "So, I'm a "European-American."!" Georgia grinned ear to ear. They had been through this race title-exchange over and over again. "I thought I was human." "Well, that's what you say you are!" Dee-Dee stuck her tongue out at Georgia and laughed. Georgia crossed her eyes and said in a mechanical voice, "I am from planet Zercon and I come in peace!" They laughed loudly together, causing heads in the coffee shop to turn. Mouths covered, their laughter quieted to giggles. "I know, I know!" Georgia laughed softly, "Black and White are just "colors". It is our heritage that defines us! The world according to Dee-Dee!" "Serious, Georgia. Be serious with me, just for a few minutes. I'd like to play this game with you, for a few weeks. Might give you some ideas for your writing and information for my Diversity Training Workshops." Outside of her work at the museum, Dee-Dee conducted Diversity Training Workshops for Non-Profits and Corporate Institutions. "O.K.", Georgia responded, curious. "What is this game that you want to play?" "Let's play, "What was Different?" Dee-Dee's brown eyes met Georgia's blues. "The game's called "What was Different"? How's it played?" "We'll, I'm kinda making it up as we sit here." Georgia laughed. "O....K! How do we play this game that you are making up as we sit here?" Dee-Dee laughed and said, "Well...we go places together...like the mall, or a grocery store. Dinner. Here, places like this Starbucks, and if something happens to me that I feel is because of my color, I ask you, "What was Different?" You report on your experience, right then and there, and tell me the story of what is going at that time and place and if you think my experience is different from yours. Then I'll tell you my interpretation of the very same experience and we can compare notes." Georgia thought for a moment and slowly nodded her head. "O.K. This might be interesting. Only I get to initiate the same senerio if I thing that something is different in my experience that is not the same in your experience because I am white." "European-American"! Dee-Dee countered. "And I don't think there will be many times that you are treated differently because you are white!" "Oh, you mean like I wasn't treated "differently" at the Book Woman Club meeting?" Georgia jutted her jaw forward and hung her head to the side. "Huh? This can be our "Looking Glass" adventure!" Georgia folded her arms across her chest. "Looking glass adventure? What are you talking about?" Dee-Dee frowned in confusion. Georgia threw both hands up in the air. "You know, Alice stepping through the looking glass! Each of us stepping through the invisible boundary that separates our worlds in the racial divide of America. I know you're looking at this game as some eye opening life exercise for me, but I'm throwing that expectation right back at 'cha! I think you are going to be just as surprised as I am by the results this game of yours. You get a front row view of "White-World", I mean, "Euro-World" just like I'm gonna get an inside look at "African-American World". Dee-Dee rolled her eyes. "Believe me, I know more about "Euro-World" than you'll ever know about my world. We are inundated with European culture from the day that we are born. Television commercials and ads about your hair, your sun tan lotion, your families, your movies about the inner-sanctums of Wall Street where we will never gain full entry ..."Euro-World" and it's values, privileges and entitlements served up on a silver platter just beyond our reach." "Soft Sheen Hair Relaxer commercials, Cover girl's Queen Latifa, and the Cosby's - a middle class family of color! And are you going to tell me that there are no African-American stock brokers?" Georgia countered. Dee-Dee leaned forward, stabbing an index finger in the air like a sword. "Commercials recruiting us to meet the European model of beauty, and the Cosby Show has been in re-runs, how long? All I see are sitcoms where we're back to the stereotype of the minstrel player - the clown with little depth and masked humanity. That's why I don't watch T.V. anymore! And I don't see many brothers having access to the kind of power that European men have in those Fortune Five Hundred Companies controlling the wealth of America! You have a lot to learn in this game we are about to play, Georgia! You want to act like the world is all equal now and that everyone has the same access to power and opportunity, to the "white-boy network"! " Dee-Dee's index and middle fingers from both hands made quote signs in the air between her and Georgia. "Really, so that's what I think, huh - Dee-Dee? And who's producing today's television minstrel players?" Dee-Dee bristled. "I'm not naming names, but he sure isn't white! Maybe you need to take a closer look at yourself and your own assessment of some issues, Dee! Access to power and opportunity? I'm single, my dad's dead and I have no brothers or uncles! I'm not the one married to the "white-boy network"!" Georgia's index fingers slashed the air and mirrored Dee-Dee's fading air graffiti.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
"Karen"
Karen had driven back and forth, up and then back down the street three times. Rose-ann's car was parked in the driveway, still, but all of her windows were shut on this hot summer's day and all of the curtains were drawn. "She's in there...I know she's in there!" Karen was mad! She had been by Rose-ann's house three times in three days, this week, and every time Rose-ann's car had been in the driveway and every time Karen had knocked and knocked and knocked at the door, but Rose-ann had not answered. She had left notes and had called and left message after message. "I am going to get down to the bottom of this mystery...TODAY!", Karen pledged to herself as she turned her car around, headed back down the block and pulled her car in behind Rose-ann's vehicle in the driveway. She parked her car, grabbed her purse, and marched up to the flaming red door. Rose-ann had been promising to host a meeting of the Book Woman Club in her home for almost a year and every time, at the last minute, she would bow-out with some lame excuse or another. She would plead that her bathroom didn't work, or that the ongoing and never ending renovation of her home wasn't done, or that the contractors had turned off the electrical box for the weekend and that she was using candles! "Nonsense!" Karen thought. She lived around the corner from Rose-ann and she had never seen a contractor's van or workman's truck at Rose-ann's house. Something wasn't right here, and although she and Rose-ann had only known each other for less than a year, Karen felt strongly that someone needed to intervene and find out what was going on! Karen was that someone! "Rose-ann!" Karen yelled, her hands on her hips. "Rose-ann, I know you're in there! Rose-ann, open this door!" Karen pulled herself up on her tip toes, stretching to see into the small window in the door, her short full-figure body almost falling over, but like a weeble-wobble she rocked back and forth until she was corrected her balance. "Rose-ann!" A thick shade covered the door's small window and try as she might, Karen could not see into the house. Karen began pounding on the door as she shouted. "Rose-ann! You answer this door! I'm not leaving until you answer this door!" She pounded and pounded until her fingers vibrated in pain! One of Rose-ann's next door neighbors opened his door and yelled at Karen, "I don't think she's home!" "Oh, she's in there! Rose-ann!" Karen turned away from the neighbor and began kicking the door! The neighbor stepped out onto his porch, waving his fist and shouting. "Look! She's not home! Leave her a note! I got to go to work tonight and I can't sleep with all your racket!" Karen continued to shout at the door, ignoring the sleep deprived and now irate neighbor. "Rose-ann! I've been here three times this week and I've left numerous notes and messages! Now, you open this door and let me in!" "I'm calling the police!", the neighbor threatened. "Go ahead and call them! For all I know, she could be dead and decaying away in there. Call them! As a matter of fact, I'll call the police." The neighbor threw up his hands, and slamming his front door, went back inside. Karen stepped back from the red door. "Rose-ann! I'm gonna assume that your dead. I'm calling the police so they can take your dead body out of there before your cat eats you!" Karen reached into her purse and took out her cell phone. "You hear me, Rose-ann? I'm counting to three, and then I'm calling the Police! You hear me? One! I'm not kidding, I'm dialing 9! Two! I just dialed 1! Th..." Rose-ann's door inched open with a loud squeal! "For heaven's sake! What is wrong with you? What do you want?" Rose-ann's face was framed in the 1/2 inch space that she had created, between the door and the door jam, when she opened her door. "I've been knocking and shouting at this door for a good fifteen minutes! I want to know why you've been ignoring me!" "Really?", Rose-ann answered innocently. "I must have not heard you!" "Bull! You heard me! The dead folks in the cemetery across town heard me!" Rose-ann's sighed and she looked at Karen with weary eyes. "Karen...what is it that you want? I'm really busy and I can't talk to you right now! Why don't you go on home and I'll call you later." Rose-ann began to close her door, but Karen quickly twisted her foot sideways and wedged it in the small opening before Rose-ann could close the door all the way. "Ow! My foot's caught! Open this door, Rose-ann!" Rose-ann propped the door open enough to relieve the pressure on Karen's foot and said, "I told you I was busy! I got to go!" Karen kicked at the door with the front of her foot, catching Rose-ann off guard, and widening the opening by maybe a half an inch. In a flash, she turned her foot and then stomped it down flat in the door's opening. "Oh no you don't! You are going to talk to me! You've been avoiding me ever since that last meeting at my house when I asked you why you never - ever host the Book Woman Club at your house. I'm here to get the bottom of this, Rose-ann! What is going on with you? What's going on in this house?" "Nothing, Karen! Move your foot! I got food on the stove!" Rose-ann tried to push Karen's foot out of the doorway with her own foot, but Karen refused to budge. "The Book Woman Club women have known you for almost a year! You have been in just about every member's home, and not one of us have ever been in yours! You're always saying that you are renovating and then backing out of hosting the meeting at the last minute! None of us has seen a workman's truck or van or ladder on this property! Rose-ann, the women are starting to whisper about you...wander if you're growing pot in there or if you got a man chained up in your basement or something!" Karen smiled, trying to add some levity to the reason for her intrusiveness; well...to her nosiness. Rose-ann just stood there, staring at Karen. Karen tried again. "Look, I am your friend, Rose-ann! I know you don't know me that well, but I am your friend! I will help you...no matter what the problem is! Just tell me! I promise you, I won't tell anybody else! This, what ever it is, will be between you and me." Rose-ann looked down at her welcome mat as if studying the pattern for use in one of her amazing quilts. "Let me help you, Rose-ann. You're going to have to let someone in sometime. This world's too hard trying to do it all alone! Let me help you!" Rose-anne she looked up, her eyes filled with tears. "Rose-ann?" Karen reached out to comfort her, but Rose-ann stepped back, avoiding her touch and opening her door... wide. Karen looked in and gasped!
"Celeste"
Celeste took a deep breathe. The air in the hall was heavy, humid with her tears. She let the thick air out slowly, clearing her lungs. Her breathing filtered regret and sorrow, filtered out regret and memory. Celeste raised her hand from her well padded stomach and looked down into her open palm. The stain from the pressure of the door handle had receded, and she dried her eyes with the back of her hand, rubbing at the mask of gritty salt that had formed on her face. As she stepped away from the wall from where she had been leaning on, across the hall from Erica's hospital room, she tried to stand up straight. Celeste felt her body list to the left, a strong tower, but leaning with the weight of the past. She slowly shuffled towards Erica's door, her feet carrying the burden of heart, mind, memory, regret and body. Celeste lifted her hand and knocked.
Her knock was answered by a scream from one voice, and then an answering echo screamed from another! Startled, Celeste grabbed the knob and rushed into the room! "Is everything alright?" Her voice probed the far corners of the room; hunting danger, tracking fear. " Everything is alright! You just startled us!" When the door opened, Dr. Swanzy had jumped up and swung around to face the door. Her clip board was poised in her hand like an Amazon's shield, her pencil was held in her other hand like a spear, ready to battle whatever force was coming through the door. "Everything is alright!" And Erica, Erica had fallen back on her hospital bed. Her face was bloodlessly pale, and she had pulled the bed cloths to her chin, a sadly inadequate defense against even the smallest storm! "You scared me!", Erica whispered, her eyes swimming around in her head. She then abruptly pulled herself back into a sitting position. "I have to go home...now! Where are my clothes?", she demanded, her voice rising, frantic...hysterical! "I don't think that that is the best choice, Mrs. Gonzalez! responded Dr. Swanzy, her voice soft, yet firm. "If you won't call the police, I have no other choice, under the law, but to call the police myself." "If you call the police, he will kill me!", Erica shouted, her quivering eyes and body totally focused on Dr. Swanzy's words. "He - will - kill - me!" She screamed as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, steadying herself with her had on the bed's side-rail. "Please! Please! Don't call the police! I beg you! Don't call them!" Erica took an unsteady step towards Dr. Swanzy, one hand clawing through the air. Begging mercy...trying to stop what she knew was inevitable. Celeste quickly stepped between Erica and the doctor, grabbing her flailing hand in her own, lending support as Erica began to sway towards the floor. Dr. Swanzy grabbed her other arm and they attempted to put her back in the bed. "No, let me sit up! Let me sit in the chair! I have to get out of that bed! I have to get out of that bed!", Erica screamed! "Sh-h-h-h! Hush now, child. We will set you in the chair. Now calm down! Calm down." Dr. Swanzy made a nodded her head towards the chair, and she and Celeste gently lowered Erica into it. "If you call the police...Pedro will kill me. He will kill me!" Erica again pleaded. "I have no choice.", Dr. Swanzy quietly reiterated and gently patted Erica's shoulder. The doctor caught Celeste's eyes, nodded, and then left the room.
Erica sat in stunned silence! Purple, green and dark red bruises moaned from above the neckline of her sagging hospital gown and as they moaned, they caught Celeste's attention. A cry of ancient sorrow rose from the pit of Celeste's soul and she knelt down in front of Erica, her aging knees adding their distress to this pain-filled hospital room. Celeste placed both of her soft wrinkled hands across Erica's breastbone. "He will kill you and this baby, my dear, if you go back to him." Her hands radiated heat. Her hands radiated soft electrical sparks that short circuited Erica's panic and slowed her heart beat. It changed her breating. It changed the messages of the synaptic fireing in Erica's brain and soul. "How did you know about the baby?" Erica's voice was low, the laying on of Celeste's hands a magic potion. "I just know, child. I just know. You'd be surprised what I know." "I have no where to go. I have...I have eight other children at home...and I can't leave them." Erica's speech became slurred, Celeste's voice a tranquilizer, leading her...leading her...."You will take them with you, my dear." Celeste said, her hands lifting to rest on either side of Erica's face, the circle of calm unbroken by their shift. "You will take them with you." Celeste's eyes held Erica's, and Erica felt like she was looking deep into the universe. She felt vertigo, she felt turned upside down, she felt like she was spinning into a galaxy of infinite peace...of infinite possibility. In those eyes, there was escape and dreams and hope. "Where?" Erica faint whisper barely reached Celeste's ears. "Where?" Celeste answered "To my house. To home."
Her knock was answered by a scream from one voice, and then an answering echo screamed from another! Startled, Celeste grabbed the knob and rushed into the room! "Is everything alright?" Her voice probed the far corners of the room; hunting danger, tracking fear. " Everything is alright! You just startled us!" When the door opened, Dr. Swanzy had jumped up and swung around to face the door. Her clip board was poised in her hand like an Amazon's shield, her pencil was held in her other hand like a spear, ready to battle whatever force was coming through the door. "Everything is alright!" And Erica, Erica had fallen back on her hospital bed. Her face was bloodlessly pale, and she had pulled the bed cloths to her chin, a sadly inadequate defense against even the smallest storm! "You scared me!", Erica whispered, her eyes swimming around in her head. She then abruptly pulled herself back into a sitting position. "I have to go home...now! Where are my clothes?", she demanded, her voice rising, frantic...hysterical! "I don't think that that is the best choice, Mrs. Gonzalez! responded Dr. Swanzy, her voice soft, yet firm. "If you won't call the police, I have no other choice, under the law, but to call the police myself." "If you call the police, he will kill me!", Erica shouted, her quivering eyes and body totally focused on Dr. Swanzy's words. "He - will - kill - me!" She screamed as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, steadying herself with her had on the bed's side-rail. "Please! Please! Don't call the police! I beg you! Don't call them!" Erica took an unsteady step towards Dr. Swanzy, one hand clawing through the air. Begging mercy...trying to stop what she knew was inevitable. Celeste quickly stepped between Erica and the doctor, grabbing her flailing hand in her own, lending support as Erica began to sway towards the floor. Dr. Swanzy grabbed her other arm and they attempted to put her back in the bed. "No, let me sit up! Let me sit in the chair! I have to get out of that bed! I have to get out of that bed!", Erica screamed! "Sh-h-h-h! Hush now, child. We will set you in the chair. Now calm down! Calm down." Dr. Swanzy made a nodded her head towards the chair, and she and Celeste gently lowered Erica into it. "If you call the police...Pedro will kill me. He will kill me!" Erica again pleaded. "I have no choice.", Dr. Swanzy quietly reiterated and gently patted Erica's shoulder. The doctor caught Celeste's eyes, nodded, and then left the room.
Erica sat in stunned silence! Purple, green and dark red bruises moaned from above the neckline of her sagging hospital gown and as they moaned, they caught Celeste's attention. A cry of ancient sorrow rose from the pit of Celeste's soul and she knelt down in front of Erica, her aging knees adding their distress to this pain-filled hospital room. Celeste placed both of her soft wrinkled hands across Erica's breastbone. "He will kill you and this baby, my dear, if you go back to him." Her hands radiated heat. Her hands radiated soft electrical sparks that short circuited Erica's panic and slowed her heart beat. It changed her breating. It changed the messages of the synaptic fireing in Erica's brain and soul. "How did you know about the baby?" Erica's voice was low, the laying on of Celeste's hands a magic potion. "I just know, child. I just know. You'd be surprised what I know." "I have no where to go. I have...I have eight other children at home...and I can't leave them." Erica's speech became slurred, Celeste's voice a tranquilizer, leading her...leading her...."You will take them with you, my dear." Celeste said, her hands lifting to rest on either side of Erica's face, the circle of calm unbroken by their shift. "You will take them with you." Celeste's eyes held Erica's, and Erica felt like she was looking deep into the universe. She felt vertigo, she felt turned upside down, she felt like she was spinning into a galaxy of infinite peace...of infinite possibility. In those eyes, there was escape and dreams and hope. "Where?" Erica faint whisper barely reached Celeste's ears. "Where?" Celeste answered "To my house. To home."
Friday, October 28, 2011
"Erica"
"I don't know what to do." Erica whispered as tears streamed down her face. Dr. Swanzy took a tissue from the pocket of her white hospital coat and offered it to Erica. Erica took the tissue from Dr. Swanzy and blew her nose, her eyes swimming around the room, avoiding Dr. Swanzy's silent gaze. "I don't know what to do!" "What do you want to do, Erica?" Dr. Swanzy softly asked, her face still and emotionless, waiting. Her eyes held Erica's face, waiting, until Erica's eyes met hers. Her eyes asked the question again. They held Erica's, as if the answer to her question would speak from Erica's tears.
Erica's eyes looked away from Dr. Swanzy, unable to answer, but her voice met the challenge in a barely audible whisper. "This baby is number nine. I was pregnant when I married Pedro. Fifteen years old! Fifteen! I had to get married. My parents were so disappointed in me. They had big dreams for me...big dreams. I was Daddy's smart little girl, who was supposed to be the first in my family to go to college. I broke his heart when I got pregnant. I broke his dreams." Erica tried to swallow her father's disappointment, and then she cleared her throat. "I have been pregnant most of my life. The babies kept coming and coming. Pedro....he...I never felt like I owned my body. It was his, and not mine." Erica closed her eyes, tears seeping through red rimmed lids. "I didn't mean for it to happen! This baby. I...I....misplaced my pills. I couldn't find them." Erica eyes opened, pain filled, but now there was a silent awareness in them. A dark epiphany. "Maybe he hid them? He hid them!" Erica's voice became edged with anger and she threw the tear soaked crumpled tissue towards the end of the hospital bed. "He...he, uh ...he forced me...I mean I didn't want to.... and I tried to get him to stop!" Erica hands clenched the sheet covering her bruises. "I told him I had missed some pills, but he wouldn't stop! He wouldn't stop!" The words pushed themselves out of Erica's mouth, bruising her lips as they fought their way into the air.
Erica stared into Dr. Swanzy's darkening eyes and her voice began to rise. "I was going to get rid of it. I was going to get a...an...I was going to kill it!!! Kill him inside of me, for forcing me! But then, I heard a baby crying. This child in me was crying...and I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find it! And then I saw...I saw an Angel!!!" Erica sat up in the bed, her face pleading for belief. "I know you're going to think I'm crazy, but I did hear a baby, this baby, crying...like it was begging for it's life. I was walking home from this Book Woman Club meeting, and I heard it crying! No one else could hear it! ... And then God sent the Angel! It was a sign, don't you see? A sign from God for me not to kill my baby!" Erica wrapped her arms protectively around her belly, her face sweaty and pale. Tears continued to pour from her eyes.
Dr. Swanzy waited; waited while the flood of tears and words ebbed. Waited while she tried to make sense of what Erica had just told her. "I'm not sure what to say about this...this angel." Dr. Swanzy's voice was slow and calm. "We will need to talk about...it...about, "The Angel"." Dr. Swanzy paused, her face neutral. Then, again, she asked her question. "What do you want to do, Erica? Shall I call the police, or will you call them?" "The police? No! No! I don't want to call the police! He's my husband, the father of my....my children! Where would I go? Where would we live? I have no money of my own! Please..." Erica swung her pale legs over the side of the bed, her tears suddenly dry. She desperately grabbed Dr. Swanzy's arm. "Please....no police!" "And so you will stay in this situation? This marriage where you are beaten?" Dr. Swanzy winced as Erica's grip tightened on her arm. "Does he beat the children?" Erica shook her head vehemently and exclaimed, "No! He has never touched my kids! I would never allow that!" "But he has beat you with this child inside of you." Dr. Swanzy quietly said. She waited several moments while she watched her words sink into Erica's salt-encrusted eyes. "Is this what you want for this new life inside of you? Is this what you want your children to continue to witness...the abuse of their mother?" Dr. Swanzy's hand mirrored Erica's hand, gently holding Erica's arm, as their eyes held each others. "Is this what you want for the rest of your life? You know...you know that he will end up killing you, don't you?" Dr. Swanzy's voice was soft, tripping on the edge of pleading.
"I know he will. I know that he will kill me, tonight...for being late!" Tears again threatened the edges of Erica's eyes and she blinked them back. She began to chew on the inside of her cheek; vicious bites that basted her saliva with blood. "He will kill me!", she whispered. "Then you will not go back there." Dr. Swanzy's hand moved from Erica's arm, and she released her arm from Erica's grip. She grasped Erica's soft hands in her strong ones. "I can't just walk away from my children. I can't leave them with him. Even if I could leave, I have nowhere else to go. I have...I have no-one." Erica's whisper became frantic, as she leaned in close to Dr. Swanzy's ear. She leaned in as if Pedro could hear her through the walls of the hospital; as if he could hear her from all the way across town. "No one will take in me and eight children! No one! And Pedro...Pedro won't let me just walk in and take the children! I won't leave without my children! I won't." Erica leaned in, her lips were almost on Dr. Swanzy's ear, her hot breath tickling Dr. Swanzy's ear as Erica continued to whisper. "My husband is a very dangerous man. He has killed before." Dr. Swanzy stared at their hands as Erica's grip on her hands became painful. "If I run...if I try to leave with my children, Pedro will hunt me down no matter where I go. He will kill me and anyone who helps me!"
The sudden knock at the door brought a scream of raw terror to Erica's lips! Dr. Swanzy's cry of pain joined Erica's scream, a call and response to Erica's overwhelming fear, as she disengaged her hands from Erica's unbearably painful grip and lifted her hand to defend her throbbing ear drum. "Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!!!" Their cries resounded in eerie discord, as the knocking became urgent pounding. "Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!!!"
Erica's eyes looked away from Dr. Swanzy, unable to answer, but her voice met the challenge in a barely audible whisper. "This baby is number nine. I was pregnant when I married Pedro. Fifteen years old! Fifteen! I had to get married. My parents were so disappointed in me. They had big dreams for me...big dreams. I was Daddy's smart little girl, who was supposed to be the first in my family to go to college. I broke his heart when I got pregnant. I broke his dreams." Erica tried to swallow her father's disappointment, and then she cleared her throat. "I have been pregnant most of my life. The babies kept coming and coming. Pedro....he...I never felt like I owned my body. It was his, and not mine." Erica closed her eyes, tears seeping through red rimmed lids. "I didn't mean for it to happen! This baby. I...I....misplaced my pills. I couldn't find them." Erica eyes opened, pain filled, but now there was a silent awareness in them. A dark epiphany. "Maybe he hid them? He hid them!" Erica's voice became edged with anger and she threw the tear soaked crumpled tissue towards the end of the hospital bed. "He...he, uh ...he forced me...I mean I didn't want to.... and I tried to get him to stop!" Erica hands clenched the sheet covering her bruises. "I told him I had missed some pills, but he wouldn't stop! He wouldn't stop!" The words pushed themselves out of Erica's mouth, bruising her lips as they fought their way into the air.
Erica stared into Dr. Swanzy's darkening eyes and her voice began to rise. "I was going to get rid of it. I was going to get a...an...I was going to kill it!!! Kill him inside of me, for forcing me! But then, I heard a baby crying. This child in me was crying...and I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find it! And then I saw...I saw an Angel!!!" Erica sat up in the bed, her face pleading for belief. "I know you're going to think I'm crazy, but I did hear a baby, this baby, crying...like it was begging for it's life. I was walking home from this Book Woman Club meeting, and I heard it crying! No one else could hear it! ... And then God sent the Angel! It was a sign, don't you see? A sign from God for me not to kill my baby!" Erica wrapped her arms protectively around her belly, her face sweaty and pale. Tears continued to pour from her eyes.
Dr. Swanzy waited; waited while the flood of tears and words ebbed. Waited while she tried to make sense of what Erica had just told her. "I'm not sure what to say about this...this angel." Dr. Swanzy's voice was slow and calm. "We will need to talk about...it...about, "The Angel"." Dr. Swanzy paused, her face neutral. Then, again, she asked her question. "What do you want to do, Erica? Shall I call the police, or will you call them?" "The police? No! No! I don't want to call the police! He's my husband, the father of my....my children! Where would I go? Where would we live? I have no money of my own! Please..." Erica swung her pale legs over the side of the bed, her tears suddenly dry. She desperately grabbed Dr. Swanzy's arm. "Please....no police!" "And so you will stay in this situation? This marriage where you are beaten?" Dr. Swanzy winced as Erica's grip tightened on her arm. "Does he beat the children?" Erica shook her head vehemently and exclaimed, "No! He has never touched my kids! I would never allow that!" "But he has beat you with this child inside of you." Dr. Swanzy quietly said. She waited several moments while she watched her words sink into Erica's salt-encrusted eyes. "Is this what you want for this new life inside of you? Is this what you want your children to continue to witness...the abuse of their mother?" Dr. Swanzy's hand mirrored Erica's hand, gently holding Erica's arm, as their eyes held each others. "Is this what you want for the rest of your life? You know...you know that he will end up killing you, don't you?" Dr. Swanzy's voice was soft, tripping on the edge of pleading.
"I know he will. I know that he will kill me, tonight...for being late!" Tears again threatened the edges of Erica's eyes and she blinked them back. She began to chew on the inside of her cheek; vicious bites that basted her saliva with blood. "He will kill me!", she whispered. "Then you will not go back there." Dr. Swanzy's hand moved from Erica's arm, and she released her arm from Erica's grip. She grasped Erica's soft hands in her strong ones. "I can't just walk away from my children. I can't leave them with him. Even if I could leave, I have nowhere else to go. I have...I have no-one." Erica's whisper became frantic, as she leaned in close to Dr. Swanzy's ear. She leaned in as if Pedro could hear her through the walls of the hospital; as if he could hear her from all the way across town. "No one will take in me and eight children! No one! And Pedro...Pedro won't let me just walk in and take the children! I won't leave without my children! I won't." Erica leaned in, her lips were almost on Dr. Swanzy's ear, her hot breath tickling Dr. Swanzy's ear as Erica continued to whisper. "My husband is a very dangerous man. He has killed before." Dr. Swanzy stared at their hands as Erica's grip on her hands became painful. "If I run...if I try to leave with my children, Pedro will hunt me down no matter where I go. He will kill me and anyone who helps me!"
The sudden knock at the door brought a scream of raw terror to Erica's lips! Dr. Swanzy's cry of pain joined Erica's scream, a call and response to Erica's overwhelming fear, as she disengaged her hands from Erica's unbearably painful grip and lifted her hand to defend her throbbing ear drum. "Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!!!" Their cries resounded in eerie discord, as the knocking became urgent pounding. "Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!!!"
Thursday, October 13, 2011
"Georgia"
"What were you thinking? Georgia confronted Dee-Dee in the car on the drive home from the Book Woman Club meeting. "I was the only "non-person-of-color" in the room!" Georgia made quote marks in the air with her index and middle fingers of both hands. "Did you see that young woman, Kadi-jah was it, glaring at me and rolling her eyes? I felt like I was wearing a KKK robe, the way she kept staring at me!" Dee-Dee laughed. "Oh, come on Georgia! It wasn't that bad!" "Oh - it wasn't that bad!" Georgia imitated Dee-Dee's voice. "I fit in like a vegetarian at a slaughter house!" "Embrace the experience, girl! It will be better next time!" Dee-Dee laughed. "Embrace the experience?, Georgia screeched. "Next time? I'm not going to any more of those meetings! I know when I'm not wanted!"
Dee-Dee's face became serious, a frown flashing on and off of her face as car headlights illuminated the change in her mood. "First time in the minority, huh? And you want to run! Wish it was so easy for me! Just run out of this color every time I am in an uncomfortable situation! Well, life doesn't work like that for us, Georgia...for people of African decent in this country. Uncomfortable situations make up our lives - everyday! Welcome to my world!" "I know that Dee-Dee...I'm not trying to run. It's just that no one wanted me there. I don't want to be one of those white people invading African-American private situations like I own the world. I hear African-Americans talking about how we whites feel like everything belongs to us." "I invited you, Georgia. You are my friend, and I asked you to come with me." "Dee-Dee, I don't want to be some part of a crusade that you have going on." Dee-Dee 's head snapped around to look at Georgia. "A part of a crusade? You are not part of some crusade Georgia!" Dee-Dee put her eyes back on the road, and parked in front of the Starbucks in armory square. "Come on, admit it Dee-Dee. Your inviting me to the Book Woman Club was a deliberate act to mess with those women! You knew how they would react!" "Well, maybe I did, but so what! You had a right to be there! Maybe they need to integrate their exclusive Black Club. Maybe you need to step out of your lily-white comfort zone for once in your safe life!"
Georgia was silent as she and Dee-Dee got out of the car and walked into Starbucks. The silence continued and grew as they each got their orders and went to the counter to adjust hot cups of coffee with sugar and cream. They found a table next to the door. Georgia stared at her pale white hands as they warmed themselves on the coffee cup. Dee-Dee didn't say anything as she took a sip of her coffee and silently looked at the top of the table.
Georgia had never, ever been the only white person at any event in all of her life. Dee-Dee's admonishment, "Maybe you need to step out of your lily white comfort zone!" echoed through her head. She had never felt so uncomfortable in her skin before. She and Dee-Dee had been friends since high school. Dee-Dee had been one of just a few black students. At dances, bowling, marching band, girl scouts, church - everywhere they had hung-out together, Dee-Dee had been the only black person. The only African-American. Georgia had never even thought about how it must have felt for Dee-Dee all of those years in school. They had gone their separate ways in College and found each other again when both of them returned to Syracuse in their adulthood. Their friendship had picked up where it left off, like no time had past. But everything seemed like it was always about color now. Dee-Dee would suck her teeth, complain about things that had happened to her at work or at the supermarket, saying it was because she was black. Georgia thought about how Dee-Dee said white people thought she was white when they talked to her on the phone. She was the Director of Education for the local Historical Association and when she would go to do history talks in rural towns and villages, Dee-Dee would tell Georgia how rooms would go silent when she walked in the door. She would be the only black person in the room and mouths would drop to the floor. One woman even said out-loud, apparently before she had time to think, "Oh, I thought you were white!" Or Dee-Dee would tell Georgia how she would ask to see some jewelry in a case at a store in Carousel Mall and the sales woman would say, "Oh, that's very expensive!" Like Dee-Dee couldn't afford it because of her brown skin! Georgia thought about the Book Woman Club Meeting. She took a sip of coffee, now growing cold in the silence of she and Dee-Dee's together-separateness at the Starbucks table. "Yes", Georgia thought, "She had gotten quite an eye opening welcome to Dee-Dee's world!"
Dee-Dee's face became serious, a frown flashing on and off of her face as car headlights illuminated the change in her mood. "First time in the minority, huh? And you want to run! Wish it was so easy for me! Just run out of this color every time I am in an uncomfortable situation! Well, life doesn't work like that for us, Georgia...for people of African decent in this country. Uncomfortable situations make up our lives - everyday! Welcome to my world!" "I know that Dee-Dee...I'm not trying to run. It's just that no one wanted me there. I don't want to be one of those white people invading African-American private situations like I own the world. I hear African-Americans talking about how we whites feel like everything belongs to us." "I invited you, Georgia. You are my friend, and I asked you to come with me." "Dee-Dee, I don't want to be some part of a crusade that you have going on." Dee-Dee 's head snapped around to look at Georgia. "A part of a crusade? You are not part of some crusade Georgia!" Dee-Dee put her eyes back on the road, and parked in front of the Starbucks in armory square. "Come on, admit it Dee-Dee. Your inviting me to the Book Woman Club was a deliberate act to mess with those women! You knew how they would react!" "Well, maybe I did, but so what! You had a right to be there! Maybe they need to integrate their exclusive Black Club. Maybe you need to step out of your lily-white comfort zone for once in your safe life!"
Georgia was silent as she and Dee-Dee got out of the car and walked into Starbucks. The silence continued and grew as they each got their orders and went to the counter to adjust hot cups of coffee with sugar and cream. They found a table next to the door. Georgia stared at her pale white hands as they warmed themselves on the coffee cup. Dee-Dee didn't say anything as she took a sip of her coffee and silently looked at the top of the table.
Georgia had never, ever been the only white person at any event in all of her life. Dee-Dee's admonishment, "Maybe you need to step out of your lily white comfort zone!" echoed through her head. She had never felt so uncomfortable in her skin before. She and Dee-Dee had been friends since high school. Dee-Dee had been one of just a few black students. At dances, bowling, marching band, girl scouts, church - everywhere they had hung-out together, Dee-Dee had been the only black person. The only African-American. Georgia had never even thought about how it must have felt for Dee-Dee all of those years in school. They had gone their separate ways in College and found each other again when both of them returned to Syracuse in their adulthood. Their friendship had picked up where it left off, like no time had past. But everything seemed like it was always about color now. Dee-Dee would suck her teeth, complain about things that had happened to her at work or at the supermarket, saying it was because she was black. Georgia thought about how Dee-Dee said white people thought she was white when they talked to her on the phone. She was the Director of Education for the local Historical Association and when she would go to do history talks in rural towns and villages, Dee-Dee would tell Georgia how rooms would go silent when she walked in the door. She would be the only black person in the room and mouths would drop to the floor. One woman even said out-loud, apparently before she had time to think, "Oh, I thought you were white!" Or Dee-Dee would tell Georgia how she would ask to see some jewelry in a case at a store in Carousel Mall and the sales woman would say, "Oh, that's very expensive!" Like Dee-Dee couldn't afford it because of her brown skin! Georgia thought about the Book Woman Club Meeting. She took a sip of coffee, now growing cold in the silence of she and Dee-Dee's together-separateness at the Starbucks table. "Yes", Georgia thought, "She had gotten quite an eye opening welcome to Dee-Dee's world!"
Thursday, September 29, 2011
"Dee-Dee"
This story, in short form, was shared on a Book Woman Book Club book-mark in 2009.
Let me introduce you to a new-old character, "Dee-Dee",
Yes - she too has a story to tell! Enjoy!
They were late. Dee-Dee had planned it that way. Dee-Dee had invited her friend, Georgia to the Book Woman Book Club meeting. She held her breath as they walked in the door, and as Dee-Dee had expected...all hell broke loose. Not the kind of shouting and yelling, or crying and sighing hell that usually broke out from her book- reading sistahs when chaos visited them. No. This was a silent acting out. Eyes threatening and necks rolling. Slapped thighs and stiffening backs. Cleared throats and eyebrows signaling. Oh yes....this was going to be an interesting afternoon!
She felt Georgia reaching for her arm with a quick intake of her breath, but Dee-Dee moved on into the room, ignoring Georgia's huff and puff, and sat down in a french-provincial chair. "Cora's bad taste just goes on and on!", Dee-Dee thought to herself! Dee-Dee pointed out another gaudy chair for Georgia to sit on and greeted everyone with a "How are my sistah's doing tonight?" Kadi-jah jumped on her greeting, "Sistahs? What..." but Bessie Davis Hudson cut Kadi-jah off with a "We are all doing fine, Dee-Dee! I see you brought a friend to the Book Club meeting. Why don't you introduce her?"
"This is my friend, Georgia. She's a poet. I told her we were reviewing poems from I am the Darker Brother and I thought she might enjoy sitting in." Dee-Dee caught Georgia's pointed stare and winked!
"Well, welcome! Ladies, let's get started. " Cora, the host for this days Book Woman Book Club meeting, began to read the poem, "I, Too, Sing America". Dee-Dee settled back in her chair.
This silent acting-out had taken place at her wedding. They all came. How could they have explained it if they didn't come. They all knew that she would still continue coming to the Book Woman Book Club. Dee-Dee's skin was thick. She had had to grow layer upon layer of skin to survive. She had grown the first new layer when her family moved to Camillus, a suburb of Syracuse, in the late 60's. White folks...all the nigger name calling, and spitting and abuse. Because of that first layer of skin. Because she was black. And then she grew that third layer of skin when she went to college. "Are you white? You talk like you white." This time Black folks. Like she had to somehow prove her blackness because she didn't know the dances, or the slang or the Black English. Oreo, they called her...black on the outside, white on the inside. Dee-Dee had grown layer after layer of skin over her 54 years of life in America - never feeling at home anywhere. Not in Black world and not in White world. She grew layer upon layer of armor. Some to protect her from white-folks and some to protect her from black-folks. And when she married Christoper, a white man, and he folded her inside of him with his love. Not black love or white love. Love.
"Well, let them be mad!" Dee-Dee thought. A bunch of these women had marched with King. They had fought against segregation and had put their lives on the front line for integration. It was time for the Book Woman Club to integrate. "Now maybe I should have forewarned Georgia that she would be the only white girl at the Book Woman Book Club meeting!" Dee-Dee admonished herself, but then thought about it again. "No, Georgia just gonna have to deal with this reality, just like the sistahs are going to have to deal with it!"
Dee-Dee tuned into the discussion and ignored Georgia's eyes throwing daggers!
Let me introduce you to a new-old character, "Dee-Dee",
Yes - she too has a story to tell! Enjoy!
They were late. Dee-Dee had planned it that way. Dee-Dee had invited her friend, Georgia to the Book Woman Book Club meeting. She held her breath as they walked in the door, and as Dee-Dee had expected...all hell broke loose. Not the kind of shouting and yelling, or crying and sighing hell that usually broke out from her book- reading sistahs when chaos visited them. No. This was a silent acting out. Eyes threatening and necks rolling. Slapped thighs and stiffening backs. Cleared throats and eyebrows signaling. Oh yes....this was going to be an interesting afternoon!
She felt Georgia reaching for her arm with a quick intake of her breath, but Dee-Dee moved on into the room, ignoring Georgia's huff and puff, and sat down in a french-provincial chair. "Cora's bad taste just goes on and on!", Dee-Dee thought to herself! Dee-Dee pointed out another gaudy chair for Georgia to sit on and greeted everyone with a "How are my sistah's doing tonight?" Kadi-jah jumped on her greeting, "Sistahs? What..." but Bessie Davis Hudson cut Kadi-jah off with a "We are all doing fine, Dee-Dee! I see you brought a friend to the Book Club meeting. Why don't you introduce her?"
"This is my friend, Georgia. She's a poet. I told her we were reviewing poems from I am the Darker Brother and I thought she might enjoy sitting in." Dee-Dee caught Georgia's pointed stare and winked!
"Well, welcome! Ladies, let's get started. " Cora, the host for this days Book Woman Book Club meeting, began to read the poem, "I, Too, Sing America". Dee-Dee settled back in her chair.
This silent acting-out had taken place at her wedding. They all came. How could they have explained it if they didn't come. They all knew that she would still continue coming to the Book Woman Book Club. Dee-Dee's skin was thick. She had had to grow layer upon layer of skin to survive. She had grown the first new layer when her family moved to Camillus, a suburb of Syracuse, in the late 60's. White folks...all the nigger name calling, and spitting and abuse. Because of that first layer of skin. Because she was black. And then she grew that third layer of skin when she went to college. "Are you white? You talk like you white." This time Black folks. Like she had to somehow prove her blackness because she didn't know the dances, or the slang or the Black English. Oreo, they called her...black on the outside, white on the inside. Dee-Dee had grown layer after layer of skin over her 54 years of life in America - never feeling at home anywhere. Not in Black world and not in White world. She grew layer upon layer of armor. Some to protect her from white-folks and some to protect her from black-folks. And when she married Christoper, a white man, and he folded her inside of him with his love. Not black love or white love. Love.
"Well, let them be mad!" Dee-Dee thought. A bunch of these women had marched with King. They had fought against segregation and had put their lives on the front line for integration. It was time for the Book Woman Club to integrate. "Now maybe I should have forewarned Georgia that she would be the only white girl at the Book Woman Book Club meeting!" Dee-Dee admonished herself, but then thought about it again. "No, Georgia just gonna have to deal with this reality, just like the sistahs are going to have to deal with it!"
Dee-Dee tuned into the discussion and ignored Georgia's eyes throwing daggers!
"Erica"
(Dear Reader - Refresh you memory with "Erica" dated 7-12-11....enjoy!)
Erica watched the old woman, Mrs Warner - Celeste? - leave the hospital room. She felt her heart race as the door closed. She knew what was coming next, and her head began throbbing as Dr. Swanzy started her exam. First the shiny, bright pin light in Erica's eyes, then the back and forth movement of Dr. Swanzy's long brown index finger. Erica followed the doctor's moving finger with fear-filled eyes as she formulated the answer to the question that she knew the doctor would inevitably ask. Dr. Swanzy lifted the arms of her stethoscope to her ears. Erica closed her eyes. Dr. Swanzy tugged Erica's gown down and Erica stopped breathing. Dr. Swanzy planted the stethoscope just over Erica's heart and said, "Breath." Erica took a long, deep, breath. She exhaled. She took another breath, and as she exhaled, Dr. Swanzy untied the opening of Erica's hospital gown and gently moved the stethoscope to another spot on Erica's chest. "Now, my dear child, tell me about these bruises."
"I slipped getting out of the car." I walked into a wall." "I fell in the bathtub and hit the side walls."
"I slipped getting out of the bathtub." I walked into the car door." I tripped on a rug and fell into the wall."
"Iwasn'twatchingwalkedintowallhitchestopeningcardoorslippedcleaningoutbathtubfellslippedtrippedslippedfell."
All of the excuses that Erica had ever used poured out of her mouth! They tumbled over and over each other, rushing to tell the truth that had been silent for so long. Every excuse used to cover up the fact that, starting on the night of their honeymoon, Pedro had abused her almost every day of their twelve year marriage ran, jumped, escaped from her lips!
Pinches, slaps, hits, punches, bites, kicks! Ears grabbed, arms twisted, wrists bent, steps tripped! Shoving, choking, biting! Shouting, yelling, screaming, whimpers, whispers...whisperings...pleading...please baby, please baby! Please! Don't! Pleasedon'tpleasedon'tpleasedon'tplease......
Erica blushed, pink filling in the cafe ole spaces between the red and purple fist size bruises splattered across her breasts. She reached up and pulled the hospital gown up to her neck, knocking the stethoscope from her chest, and turned her body away from the doctor. Tears rolled down Erica's face, unchecked, as she begin to eat at herself, tear at the inside of her cheek with her tongue. Dr. Swanzy reached out and gently rolled Erica towards her, murmuring, "Oh, my poor, poor child! When did this happen?" Erica's eyes met and held Dr. Swanzy's eyes. She heard the bell clock down on Montgomery Street, below the hospital where it stood on "the hill" mark time, and then time again and again..."Tell!, Tell!, Tell!, Tell!,Tell!, Tell!, Tell!
It was time to Tell! "Last night.", Erica whispered.
"And so, my dear, what is it that we are going to do about this?" asked Dr. Swanzy, "...especially in light of your pregnancy?"
Erica watched the old woman, Mrs Warner - Celeste? - leave the hospital room. She felt her heart race as the door closed. She knew what was coming next, and her head began throbbing as Dr. Swanzy started her exam. First the shiny, bright pin light in Erica's eyes, then the back and forth movement of Dr. Swanzy's long brown index finger. Erica followed the doctor's moving finger with fear-filled eyes as she formulated the answer to the question that she knew the doctor would inevitably ask. Dr. Swanzy lifted the arms of her stethoscope to her ears. Erica closed her eyes. Dr. Swanzy tugged Erica's gown down and Erica stopped breathing. Dr. Swanzy planted the stethoscope just over Erica's heart and said, "Breath." Erica took a long, deep, breath. She exhaled. She took another breath, and as she exhaled, Dr. Swanzy untied the opening of Erica's hospital gown and gently moved the stethoscope to another spot on Erica's chest. "Now, my dear child, tell me about these bruises."
"I slipped getting out of the car." I walked into a wall." "I fell in the bathtub and hit the side walls."
"I slipped getting out of the bathtub." I walked into the car door." I tripped on a rug and fell into the wall."
"Iwasn'twatchingwalkedintowallhitchestopeningcardoorslippedcleaningoutbathtubfellslippedtrippedslippedfell."
All of the excuses that Erica had ever used poured out of her mouth! They tumbled over and over each other, rushing to tell the truth that had been silent for so long. Every excuse used to cover up the fact that, starting on the night of their honeymoon, Pedro had abused her almost every day of their twelve year marriage ran, jumped, escaped from her lips!
Pinches, slaps, hits, punches, bites, kicks! Ears grabbed, arms twisted, wrists bent, steps tripped! Shoving, choking, biting! Shouting, yelling, screaming, whimpers, whispers...whisperings...pleading...please baby, please baby! Please! Don't! Pleasedon'tpleasedon'tpleasedon'tplease......
Erica blushed, pink filling in the cafe ole spaces between the red and purple fist size bruises splattered across her breasts. She reached up and pulled the hospital gown up to her neck, knocking the stethoscope from her chest, and turned her body away from the doctor. Tears rolled down Erica's face, unchecked, as she begin to eat at herself, tear at the inside of her cheek with her tongue. Dr. Swanzy reached out and gently rolled Erica towards her, murmuring, "Oh, my poor, poor child! When did this happen?" Erica's eyes met and held Dr. Swanzy's eyes. She heard the bell clock down on Montgomery Street, below the hospital where it stood on "the hill" mark time, and then time again and again..."Tell!, Tell!, Tell!, Tell!,Tell!, Tell!, Tell!
It was time to Tell! "Last night.", Erica whispered.
"And so, my dear, what is it that we are going to do about this?" asked Dr. Swanzy, "...especially in light of your pregnancy?"
Saturday, September 17, 2011
"Celeste"
Dear Readers:
It has been a busy, busy summer and I have not been blogging! I went to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival the first two weeks of August, (deep wood camping and no internet), and then returned to get totally engulfed in my work at the New York State Fair's Pan-African Village. Twelve days of 12-16 hour days of work! I still have laundry from Michigan and from the State screaming at me from my back hallway! I just got caught up with paperwork from my job, artwork is crying for completion of an October-November show and characters in my next play are talking up a blue storm in my head demanding that they be written.
Excuses and excuses for not writing my blog. But today, I wrote Celeste - cause she too has been causing a ruckus in my head! In fact, the Book Woman Club women are in rebellion and are threatening silence if I don't write!
I hope that you will again read my blog...and have not lost interest! Please come back! Don't leave me and the Book Woman Club! I say this humbily, for it is I who have deserted you, and I am sorry! Please forgive me! (Refresh yourself to this story line by reading "Erica" dated July 12th, 2011) Enjoy!
Celeste Warner paced the hall outside of Erica's hospital room. A deep frown-line appeared in the center of her forehead. "Oh yes, my dear, you'd be surprised the things I know!" Celeste drew upon memory and intuition. Memory and hearing. Memory and taste. Oh yes, Celeste knew the nature and meaning of Erica's fears! Erica's fear...and Erica's husband nature! "What did she say his name was? Oh yes,....Pedro!" Celeste rolled Pedro's name around on her tongue, spitting it out, the taste offensive. "Pedro!" His name tasted like the odor of the fertilizer that she used in her gardens. She spat again. "I know, my dear. Oh yes, I know!"
Celeste felt burning heat and anger rise in her head. She stopped pacing and moved towards Erica's hospital room door, the anger forcing her to action; anger demanding her to take charge and fight, protect, love, rescue and, this time, triumph against an evil that had marked her life with loss...forever. Celeste grabbed the door handle, her grip tightening in super-human strength as an intense pulse of pain flowered in her head. She felt brain cells erupting, destroying the fragile dams of sanity that fought to hold unchecked-long-buried-deadly-fury. She felt unfettered-long-armed-hatred battle through gray-matter to ride the boiling surface of scorched and forgotten memory; felt the long-dead - un-forgettable - un-forgivable overflow into a cascading blood-red waterfall that pooled in the pit of her sorrow filled soul. She felt scorched vomit spew upward, riding upon torrential waves of regret. Regret upon regret riding regret upon regret. Regret riding regret upon regret. Regret riding regret. And... regret, regret carved a blistering, bitter path through Celeste's mouth. It slashed upward through the soft flesh of her throat, carved deep canyons through her tongue and brutally knocked out a lifetime of teeth. Silent screams tumbled from Celeste's lips. Pain-filled. Primal. Primitive. Felt and not heard, those in charge of pain, those sitting at the near-by nurses station looked up, foreheads filled with lines of concern. They looked up from Styrofoam coffee cups and charts demanding completion. They looked up with professional concern...and with fear. They sniffed the air, trying to locate the source of this silent, ragged, cry of pain.
Celeste force-closed her emotion-filled mouth. "Calm yourself, girl! Act like a lady and just calm yourself down!" She released the door handle. The delicate joints of her aged fingers throbbed as they loosed their grip. Opening her hand, she stretched out each finger, one by one. The red indentation of the door handle stained the inside of her palm, and Celeste pressed her hand into the soft pillow of her round, matronly stomach. Unsteady, she backed up, her age-spread-behind finding the solid strength of the wall opposite Erica's hospital room. Celeste began to rock along the wall as tears flowed down her face, and like her tears, memory and regret fell. They fell hard, crashing onto the scuffed hospital floor - momentum forcing them upward to the ceiling. Gravity then wrangled them downward in an ebbing, restless, sorrow-filled tide........that pushed its way under Erica's door.
It has been a busy, busy summer and I have not been blogging! I went to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival the first two weeks of August, (deep wood camping and no internet), and then returned to get totally engulfed in my work at the New York State Fair's Pan-African Village. Twelve days of 12-16 hour days of work! I still have laundry from Michigan and from the State screaming at me from my back hallway! I just got caught up with paperwork from my job, artwork is crying for completion of an October-November show and characters in my next play are talking up a blue storm in my head demanding that they be written.
Excuses and excuses for not writing my blog. But today, I wrote Celeste - cause she too has been causing a ruckus in my head! In fact, the Book Woman Club women are in rebellion and are threatening silence if I don't write!
I hope that you will again read my blog...and have not lost interest! Please come back! Don't leave me and the Book Woman Club! I say this humbily, for it is I who have deserted you, and I am sorry! Please forgive me! (Refresh yourself to this story line by reading "Erica" dated July 12th, 2011) Enjoy!
Celeste Warner paced the hall outside of Erica's hospital room. A deep frown-line appeared in the center of her forehead. "Oh yes, my dear, you'd be surprised the things I know!" Celeste drew upon memory and intuition. Memory and hearing. Memory and taste. Oh yes, Celeste knew the nature and meaning of Erica's fears! Erica's fear...and Erica's husband nature! "What did she say his name was? Oh yes,....Pedro!" Celeste rolled Pedro's name around on her tongue, spitting it out, the taste offensive. "Pedro!" His name tasted like the odor of the fertilizer that she used in her gardens. She spat again. "I know, my dear. Oh yes, I know!"
Celeste felt burning heat and anger rise in her head. She stopped pacing and moved towards Erica's hospital room door, the anger forcing her to action; anger demanding her to take charge and fight, protect, love, rescue and, this time, triumph against an evil that had marked her life with loss...forever. Celeste grabbed the door handle, her grip tightening in super-human strength as an intense pulse of pain flowered in her head. She felt brain cells erupting, destroying the fragile dams of sanity that fought to hold unchecked-long-buried-deadly-fury. She felt unfettered-long-armed-hatred battle through gray-matter to ride the boiling surface of scorched and forgotten memory; felt the long-dead - un-forgettable - un-forgivable overflow into a cascading blood-red waterfall that pooled in the pit of her sorrow filled soul. She felt scorched vomit spew upward, riding upon torrential waves of regret. Regret upon regret riding regret upon regret. Regret riding regret upon regret. Regret riding regret. And... regret, regret carved a blistering, bitter path through Celeste's mouth. It slashed upward through the soft flesh of her throat, carved deep canyons through her tongue and brutally knocked out a lifetime of teeth. Silent screams tumbled from Celeste's lips. Pain-filled. Primal. Primitive. Felt and not heard, those in charge of pain, those sitting at the near-by nurses station looked up, foreheads filled with lines of concern. They looked up from Styrofoam coffee cups and charts demanding completion. They looked up with professional concern...and with fear. They sniffed the air, trying to locate the source of this silent, ragged, cry of pain.
Celeste force-closed her emotion-filled mouth. "Calm yourself, girl! Act like a lady and just calm yourself down!" She released the door handle. The delicate joints of her aged fingers throbbed as they loosed their grip. Opening her hand, she stretched out each finger, one by one. The red indentation of the door handle stained the inside of her palm, and Celeste pressed her hand into the soft pillow of her round, matronly stomach. Unsteady, she backed up, her age-spread-behind finding the solid strength of the wall opposite Erica's hospital room. Celeste began to rock along the wall as tears flowed down her face, and like her tears, memory and regret fell. They fell hard, crashing onto the scuffed hospital floor - momentum forcing them upward to the ceiling. Gravity then wrangled them downward in an ebbing, restless, sorrow-filled tide........that pushed its way under Erica's door.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
"Thunderbird"
Thunderbird was afraid!
"Does she know?"
"She knows!!!"
"How could she have found out?"
Thunderbird wanted to rant and rave! To shout-out-loud in the forgotten tongues of the ancestors who had flown before her. To dance and stomp in the fading imprints of Glory's bible induced tap-dance on the soft blue wall to wall carpeting of Carol Jean's living-room. She felt like she was suspended between revealing and revelation, between self-destruction and self-preservation. Between telling and sworn silence - her faithful pledge to all those in the line behind her.
The Woman of the Book Woman Club had resumed their discussion on The Color Purple; subdued and barely audible chatter over-shadowed by Glory "Amen" Johnson's drama and by Erica's passing out on the floor. Lenora's long dissertation on the relationship between Celie and Shug, the implied homosexuality and the longing need for intimacy that Celie starved for, became mouthed words without sound as Thunderbird found that she was unable to hold onto the present. The past plucked at her. Childhood whisperings and grown folks talk. Hot heavy breath and suffocating altitudes. Memories flowing over memory, remembrance trampling remembering. Glory's raised black-bound Holy Bible and Thunderbird's innocent-brown hands raised pleading in prayer. "Oh, Lord in Heaven! Deliver me from this evil! Deliver us all from this Dark Angel of Hell!" A chain reaction of childhood memories began to race inside of Thunderbird's skull; growing and then exploding, rising like a deadly mushroom cloud from an atomic bomb. The air became foul, heavy like a haunting. Heavy like piss soaked bedsheets wrapped around the struggling limbs of innocent children trapped in midnight nightmares. "Deliver us all from this Dark Angel of Hell!" Glory standing in the middle of the room, again and again. Innocent hands raised pleading in prayer. "Please, Lord in Heaven! Deliver me...!" Again and again, the plea...again and again! "Deliver me....!"
"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep! If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." And still I woke every day. The Lord ignored me every night, and every day I rose up anyway. New day, after new day, after new day - life stood in the way! "If I should die..." never came. At least not in body. My soul died in small pieces, night after night. With no mercy from heaven! No mercy from God! Night after night he came into my room, his breath stinking of alcohol! And monstrous threats! "If you tell...". He pulled back the sheets. Night after night, after night, after night! Until one night, in the absence of God, any God!, the ancestors answered my prayer. They whispered their secret, taught me who I was. Passed down the knowledge that had become legend by generations that had forgotten. The legend of the Thunderbirds! Those ancestors who joined with human flesh, and held onto the power of flight in the memory of each and every cell. The ancestors circled me, laid hands on me, and woke up memory. He came into my room, his breath stinking of alcohol. And monstrous threats..."if you tell....!" I saw him pull back the sheets, pull the sheets off the bed in disbelieve. Because...I wasn't there! I watched him from the corner of the room. And he must have felt my eyes, on the back of his throat, because he turned around and looked up to where I hovered in the corner of the room near the ceiling. In disbelieve! And I shouted, "Believe!" And I flew away! I flew out the window, not the door. I flew like my ancestors taught on wings damaged, but not torn. I soared. And I knew I would be a victim, NO MORE! I flew the night, I flew the sky, I flew to heaven! I faced God and said, "Behold, what you have withheld - the Ancestors have given!" God threw a lightning bolt of fury at me, and fleeing through heaven's gates, I threw it back at him! (I know each thunder storm is a chastisement!) When I came back home, no one said a word. No one acknowledged what had happened. My father wouldn't look at me. Never spoke a word to me again. My mother was as silent about my flight as she was about his visits. As silent as I was in keeping the secret of flight that the ancestors had bequeathed to me. I have never told, "Who?" I have never answered, "How?" She's never asked my father, "Why?" The lady next door said she saw me that first night, flying above my back yard. At least that's what she thinks she witnessed. My mother denied it, like she had denied the truth of my night realities before I could fly. So we moved. And kept moving each time someone said they saw. I keep moving, every time someone sees me. But, let me tell you something...my daddy never touched me again. He never came back into my room. And I know why. He couldn't fly!
"Now I lay me down to sleep....and I pray for each new day's flight to keep!"
"How could she have found out?" Thunderbird thought.
"I know she knows!"
Thunderbird was afraid!
"Does she know?"
"She knows!!!"
"How could she have found out?"
Thunderbird wanted to rant and rave! To shout-out-loud in the forgotten tongues of the ancestors who had flown before her. To dance and stomp in the fading imprints of Glory's bible induced tap-dance on the soft blue wall to wall carpeting of Carol Jean's living-room. She felt like she was suspended between revealing and revelation, between self-destruction and self-preservation. Between telling and sworn silence - her faithful pledge to all those in the line behind her.
The Woman of the Book Woman Club had resumed their discussion on The Color Purple; subdued and barely audible chatter over-shadowed by Glory "Amen" Johnson's drama and by Erica's passing out on the floor. Lenora's long dissertation on the relationship between Celie and Shug, the implied homosexuality and the longing need for intimacy that Celie starved for, became mouthed words without sound as Thunderbird found that she was unable to hold onto the present. The past plucked at her. Childhood whisperings and grown folks talk. Hot heavy breath and suffocating altitudes. Memories flowing over memory, remembrance trampling remembering. Glory's raised black-bound Holy Bible and Thunderbird's innocent-brown hands raised pleading in prayer. "Oh, Lord in Heaven! Deliver me from this evil! Deliver us all from this Dark Angel of Hell!" A chain reaction of childhood memories began to race inside of Thunderbird's skull; growing and then exploding, rising like a deadly mushroom cloud from an atomic bomb. The air became foul, heavy like a haunting. Heavy like piss soaked bedsheets wrapped around the struggling limbs of innocent children trapped in midnight nightmares. "Deliver us all from this Dark Angel of Hell!" Glory standing in the middle of the room, again and again. Innocent hands raised pleading in prayer. "Please, Lord in Heaven! Deliver me...!" Again and again, the plea...again and again! "Deliver me....!"
"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep! If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." And still I woke every day. The Lord ignored me every night, and every day I rose up anyway. New day, after new day, after new day - life stood in the way! "If I should die..." never came. At least not in body. My soul died in small pieces, night after night. With no mercy from heaven! No mercy from God! Night after night he came into my room, his breath stinking of alcohol! And monstrous threats! "If you tell...". He pulled back the sheets. Night after night, after night, after night! Until one night, in the absence of God, any God!, the ancestors answered my prayer. They whispered their secret, taught me who I was. Passed down the knowledge that had become legend by generations that had forgotten. The legend of the Thunderbirds! Those ancestors who joined with human flesh, and held onto the power of flight in the memory of each and every cell. The ancestors circled me, laid hands on me, and woke up memory. He came into my room, his breath stinking of alcohol. And monstrous threats..."if you tell....!" I saw him pull back the sheets, pull the sheets off the bed in disbelieve. Because...I wasn't there! I watched him from the corner of the room. And he must have felt my eyes, on the back of his throat, because he turned around and looked up to where I hovered in the corner of the room near the ceiling. In disbelieve! And I shouted, "Believe!" And I flew away! I flew out the window, not the door. I flew like my ancestors taught on wings damaged, but not torn. I soared. And I knew I would be a victim, NO MORE! I flew the night, I flew the sky, I flew to heaven! I faced God and said, "Behold, what you have withheld - the Ancestors have given!" God threw a lightning bolt of fury at me, and fleeing through heaven's gates, I threw it back at him! (I know each thunder storm is a chastisement!) When I came back home, no one said a word. No one acknowledged what had happened. My father wouldn't look at me. Never spoke a word to me again. My mother was as silent about my flight as she was about his visits. As silent as I was in keeping the secret of flight that the ancestors had bequeathed to me. I have never told, "Who?" I have never answered, "How?" She's never asked my father, "Why?" The lady next door said she saw me that first night, flying above my back yard. At least that's what she thinks she witnessed. My mother denied it, like she had denied the truth of my night realities before I could fly. So we moved. And kept moving each time someone said they saw. I keep moving, every time someone sees me. But, let me tell you something...my daddy never touched me again. He never came back into my room. And I know why. He couldn't fly!
"Now I lay me down to sleep....and I pray for each new day's flight to keep!"
"How could she have found out?" Thunderbird thought.
"I know she knows!"
Thunderbird was afraid!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
"Carmen"
Laying on her back, Carmen breathed and sweated. Wide, salty rivers ran down both sides of her face, pooling at the base of her throat, forming a tepid pond. From there, the sweat fell into the deep valley that separated her breasts and then over-flowed; cascading down the sides of her tight belly. The room was hot! Hot from the humid summer day. Hot from the sheer curtains that let so much of the afternoon's sun-lit heat into the small bedroom. Hot from heaving chests and uncensored screams and urgent coupling.
She rolled over onto her side. Reaching up, she pulled her long bright red-orange dyed hair to one side and grabbed a hand-full of the top sheet, wiping away the sting of the salty sweat that had rolled into her eyes. Her eyes rested on the damp indentation on the pillow next to her. He was gone.
As always, he hadn't said good-bye. He would make passionate love to her; would take his time fulfilling her needs - and his - crying out her name over and over again. But, he would always hurry away while she lay asleep; exhausted by their love making, satisfied by their time together. Then contentment would turn to insecurity. Insecurity to dissatisfaction. Dissatisfaction to questioning, and, as always, the questioning would lead to self-hatred. "I am...a whore." Carmen rolled the word around in her mouth, tasting the foulness of it, spitting out the sweet and sour taste of it.
For the hundredth time, Carmen asked herself - why? Not - why him. Not - why she slept with him. Not - who she betrayed in these secret trysts with him. But - why she needed to do this at all? Carmen restlessly tossed the top sheet off her sweaty body and got up from the bed. She went over to the closet and put on her favorite red silk robe, the one that clashed horribly with her bright red-orange hair. She let the robe hang open, examining her long body in the full-length mirror that hung on the closet door. She was beautiful...and she knew it! Her long hair hung in thick stands around her full, yet still perky breasts. The flat, well defined muscles of her slim waist accentuated her round, lush hips. She turned to check out her behind, an ass that made men stop in their tracks to celebrate with low whistles, with lust-filled grunts and with obscene shouts. Carmen smiled to herself, and turned to face the mirror, putting her hands on her hips. Her eyes continued down to her naked pubis - always shaved and always ready! That thought chased away her smile and frowning, Carmen yanked the garish robe closed. "Whore!" she shouted at her reflection and then turned from the mirror.
She stepped into the bathroom and ran a bath, pouring her favorite bath gel into the steamy, hot water. She sat on the side of the tub and worried a hang nail while she mused about her life. Carmen could never remember a time when she didn't have a man. Not even in her youth. Little boys got on her nerves, and her first lover had been twenty-three years her senior when she lost her virginity of only fourteen years! She had never gone out on a date...just fucked! She had never had a boyfriend. No steady relationship. No fiance. No husband. Just men...men!
It wasn't as if she needed them to pay the bills. She didn't want or need their money! She had always been able to take care of herself; had always gotten good jobs with good salaries. She didn't need them to escort her to movies or events. She was quite content to go out alone....and she always met someone if she wanted entertainment for the night. She had great friends, so didn't need a man for company. Carmen just liked sleeping with them. Not more than one at the same time; nor more than one at a time. Just one...until they got on her nerves! They usually didn't last for more than three months before she got bored with them and stopped answering their calls or e-mails. "Please baby, please baby, please....", Carmen whispered, and laughed. And, it didn't mater whether they were single or married. They were all fair game!
Carmen slapped herself on one of her well shaped thighs. "Whore!" she called into the fog that surrounded her. She turned off the hot water and adjusted the temperature with cold water. When it was cool enough to get into, Carmen slipped out of her robe and let it slip down her body onto the blood-red bath mat. She groaned with pleasure as she lowered her body into the foaming tub. "Almost as good as sex", she whispered, and let the hot water relax her as her thoughts tried to worry in her head. "I should feel guilty", Carmen thought, and searched her mind and heart for this emotion. Not finding it, she thought back on her afternoon in bed with Pedro, her best friend Erica's husband. "But this is different", she said to herself, and for a moment she applauded her intention. Carmen smiled, feeling clever that she had gotten Erica involved in the Book Woman Club, giving herself, first, time to seduce Pedro, and then, time for these afternoon encounters. Erica complained to Carmen about Pedro all - the - time! It was obvious that she didn't know how to handle him! The only nice thing that Erica had to say about her husband was that he was hung like a horse, and that he was a man who knew what to do with his gifted member! Carmen's smile widened as she thought to herself, "But, I can handle you, Mr. Pedro! Oh, yes I can! I know exactly what to do with you...and what I'm going to do to you, Mr. Man!"
Carmen ran a hand down the length of her wet and languid body, her hand coming to rest between her now trembling thighs, and she thought about Pedro and their afternoon fucking........
She rolled over onto her side. Reaching up, she pulled her long bright red-orange dyed hair to one side and grabbed a hand-full of the top sheet, wiping away the sting of the salty sweat that had rolled into her eyes. Her eyes rested on the damp indentation on the pillow next to her. He was gone.
As always, he hadn't said good-bye. He would make passionate love to her; would take his time fulfilling her needs - and his - crying out her name over and over again. But, he would always hurry away while she lay asleep; exhausted by their love making, satisfied by their time together. Then contentment would turn to insecurity. Insecurity to dissatisfaction. Dissatisfaction to questioning, and, as always, the questioning would lead to self-hatred. "I am...a whore." Carmen rolled the word around in her mouth, tasting the foulness of it, spitting out the sweet and sour taste of it.
For the hundredth time, Carmen asked herself - why? Not - why him. Not - why she slept with him. Not - who she betrayed in these secret trysts with him. But - why she needed to do this at all? Carmen restlessly tossed the top sheet off her sweaty body and got up from the bed. She went over to the closet and put on her favorite red silk robe, the one that clashed horribly with her bright red-orange hair. She let the robe hang open, examining her long body in the full-length mirror that hung on the closet door. She was beautiful...and she knew it! Her long hair hung in thick stands around her full, yet still perky breasts. The flat, well defined muscles of her slim waist accentuated her round, lush hips. She turned to check out her behind, an ass that made men stop in their tracks to celebrate with low whistles, with lust-filled grunts and with obscene shouts. Carmen smiled to herself, and turned to face the mirror, putting her hands on her hips. Her eyes continued down to her naked pubis - always shaved and always ready! That thought chased away her smile and frowning, Carmen yanked the garish robe closed. "Whore!" she shouted at her reflection and then turned from the mirror.
She stepped into the bathroom and ran a bath, pouring her favorite bath gel into the steamy, hot water. She sat on the side of the tub and worried a hang nail while she mused about her life. Carmen could never remember a time when she didn't have a man. Not even in her youth. Little boys got on her nerves, and her first lover had been twenty-three years her senior when she lost her virginity of only fourteen years! She had never gone out on a date...just fucked! She had never had a boyfriend. No steady relationship. No fiance. No husband. Just men...men!
It wasn't as if she needed them to pay the bills. She didn't want or need their money! She had always been able to take care of herself; had always gotten good jobs with good salaries. She didn't need them to escort her to movies or events. She was quite content to go out alone....and she always met someone if she wanted entertainment for the night. She had great friends, so didn't need a man for company. Carmen just liked sleeping with them. Not more than one at the same time; nor more than one at a time. Just one...until they got on her nerves! They usually didn't last for more than three months before she got bored with them and stopped answering their calls or e-mails. "Please baby, please baby, please....", Carmen whispered, and laughed. And, it didn't mater whether they were single or married. They were all fair game!
Carmen slapped herself on one of her well shaped thighs. "Whore!" she called into the fog that surrounded her. She turned off the hot water and adjusted the temperature with cold water. When it was cool enough to get into, Carmen slipped out of her robe and let it slip down her body onto the blood-red bath mat. She groaned with pleasure as she lowered her body into the foaming tub. "Almost as good as sex", she whispered, and let the hot water relax her as her thoughts tried to worry in her head. "I should feel guilty", Carmen thought, and searched her mind and heart for this emotion. Not finding it, she thought back on her afternoon in bed with Pedro, her best friend Erica's husband. "But this is different", she said to herself, and for a moment she applauded her intention. Carmen smiled, feeling clever that she had gotten Erica involved in the Book Woman Club, giving herself, first, time to seduce Pedro, and then, time for these afternoon encounters. Erica complained to Carmen about Pedro all - the - time! It was obvious that she didn't know how to handle him! The only nice thing that Erica had to say about her husband was that he was hung like a horse, and that he was a man who knew what to do with his gifted member! Carmen's smile widened as she thought to herself, "But, I can handle you, Mr. Pedro! Oh, yes I can! I know exactly what to do with you...and what I'm going to do to you, Mr. Man!"
Carmen ran a hand down the length of her wet and languid body, her hand coming to rest between her now trembling thighs, and she thought about Pedro and their afternoon fucking........
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
"Erica"
(Dear reader - to refresh yourself about where we last left Erica....read again 6-21-11. Enjoy!)
"Are you all right, dear?" The sweetness of the voice was so unbearably loving, so smooth, so gentle, that it was... painful. The words that voice spoke - echoed inside of Erica's throbbing head. "...all right, dear?...all right, dear?...all right, dear...?" Prayer bells tinkling. A match striking to light incense. The rustling of spreading wings. Feather light touches stroked Erica's forehead and it felt like heaven had opened her gates and sent a chorus of angels to minister to her. The angels pulled her towards consciousness, and she opened her eyes. "Where am I?"
"You're at Crouse Irving Memorial Hospital, dear." A face came into focus and Erica recognized the older woman who had been watering her plants in front of the house on James Street. "The hospital? No! No!" Erica struggled to sit up, but the throbbing pain pulled her head back down onto the soft pillow. "Ohhh!" Erica moaned, and she closed her eyes. "What time is it?" "A little after six, dear." Erica's eyes flew open - wildly dancing with fear. "No! Oh, no! I have to get home! Pedro..." Erica again struggled to sit up, this time pushing pain and fatigue backward and dragging up what will she had left to force one leg to move and dangle over the edge of the hospital bed. The older woman stood up in protest, and walking quickly around the end of the bed, she put her warm, gentle hand on Erica's shoulder. "You're in no condition to move, dear! Please - lay back down! I'm calling the nurse!" The older woman pressed the nurse call button on the wall. "I can call your husband...Pedro is it?...to come and sit with you. You passed out on the sidewalk and that jogger, (do you remember him?), called 911. You didn't have any identification with you, so we didn't know who to call." "No, no! Please don't call Pedro ! I'm gonna be so late, and he's gonna be so mad! I've got to get out of here!" Erica swung her other foot over the side of the bed. She began to chew the soft tissue on the inside of her cheek. Blood mixed with the salty taste of her tears as she began to cry. Again, the older woman's gentle hand firmly pushed down on Erica's shoulder. "He'll understand, dear!" Tears streamed down Erica's face. "You don't understand!" Erica whispered. "He won't understand!"
A nurse entered the room. "You shouldn't be up!" the nurse scolded. "I need to go home!" Erica quickly stood up on shaky feet, and the older woman moved her hand from Erica's shoulder to underneath her arm, taking much of Erica's weight on her own shoulders. "You're not ready to go home yet!", said the woman, and the nurse agreed. The older woman and the nurse put Erica back in bed, Erica's protests and tears falling on deaf ears. The nurse took her vitals and told Erica that she would send the doctor in to speak with her, and left the room. "I have to go home! I have to!" Erica wiped her running eyes and nose on the sleeve of her hospital gown as she pleaded with the older woman. A soft, feathery, red blotch from the blood in Erica's mouth took form on her hospital sleeve. "I know. I know!" The older woman tried to sooth her, taking Erica's hand into her soft thin skinned brown hands. "You don't know. You just don't know...", Erica whispered. The older woman leaned into Erica's ear and whispered, "You'd be surprised what I know!" Erica looked up at the older woman, her eyes puzzled. She was about to ask the woman what she meant, when the doctor entered her room.
"I am Doctor Swanzy." A tall dark skinned woman with an African accent stood next to the bed. "Now, tell me, do you have a name, our mystery patient?" "Erica." The doctor took notes, turning pages of official looking documents held captive on her clipboard and asked for Erica's last name. "Gonzalez.", Erica answered. "Your friend here.." "Mrs. Celeste Warner", the older woman said, giving a quick smile Erica's way. Erica looked at Celeste with surprise and embarrassment and nodded. She had never asked the woman her name! "Your friend, Mrs. Warner has been very worried about you! Ms. Warner, if you step out for a few moments, I would like to make a quick examination of Miss?...." "Mrs.", Erica corrected. "Mrs. Gonzalez, " the doctor finished saying and again made a note on the pages of her clipboard. "I need to go home!" Erica now pleaded with the doctor. "In due time, in due time! Let me check you over...and then we can talk about going home." The doctor closed the door behind Celeste as she left the hospital room.
Celeste Warner paced the hall across from Erica's hospital room. A deep frown line appeared in the center of her forehead. "Oh yes, my dear! You'd be surprised, the things I know."
"Are you all right, dear?" The sweetness of the voice was so unbearably loving, so smooth, so gentle, that it was... painful. The words that voice spoke - echoed inside of Erica's throbbing head. "...all right, dear?...all right, dear?...all right, dear...?" Prayer bells tinkling. A match striking to light incense. The rustling of spreading wings. Feather light touches stroked Erica's forehead and it felt like heaven had opened her gates and sent a chorus of angels to minister to her. The angels pulled her towards consciousness, and she opened her eyes. "Where am I?"
"You're at Crouse Irving Memorial Hospital, dear." A face came into focus and Erica recognized the older woman who had been watering her plants in front of the house on James Street. "The hospital? No! No!" Erica struggled to sit up, but the throbbing pain pulled her head back down onto the soft pillow. "Ohhh!" Erica moaned, and she closed her eyes. "What time is it?" "A little after six, dear." Erica's eyes flew open - wildly dancing with fear. "No! Oh, no! I have to get home! Pedro..." Erica again struggled to sit up, this time pushing pain and fatigue backward and dragging up what will she had left to force one leg to move and dangle over the edge of the hospital bed. The older woman stood up in protest, and walking quickly around the end of the bed, she put her warm, gentle hand on Erica's shoulder. "You're in no condition to move, dear! Please - lay back down! I'm calling the nurse!" The older woman pressed the nurse call button on the wall. "I can call your husband...Pedro is it?...to come and sit with you. You passed out on the sidewalk and that jogger, (do you remember him?), called 911. You didn't have any identification with you, so we didn't know who to call." "No, no! Please don't call Pedro ! I'm gonna be so late, and he's gonna be so mad! I've got to get out of here!" Erica swung her other foot over the side of the bed. She began to chew the soft tissue on the inside of her cheek. Blood mixed with the salty taste of her tears as she began to cry. Again, the older woman's gentle hand firmly pushed down on Erica's shoulder. "He'll understand, dear!" Tears streamed down Erica's face. "You don't understand!" Erica whispered. "He won't understand!"
A nurse entered the room. "You shouldn't be up!" the nurse scolded. "I need to go home!" Erica quickly stood up on shaky feet, and the older woman moved her hand from Erica's shoulder to underneath her arm, taking much of Erica's weight on her own shoulders. "You're not ready to go home yet!", said the woman, and the nurse agreed. The older woman and the nurse put Erica back in bed, Erica's protests and tears falling on deaf ears. The nurse took her vitals and told Erica that she would send the doctor in to speak with her, and left the room. "I have to go home! I have to!" Erica wiped her running eyes and nose on the sleeve of her hospital gown as she pleaded with the older woman. A soft, feathery, red blotch from the blood in Erica's mouth took form on her hospital sleeve. "I know. I know!" The older woman tried to sooth her, taking Erica's hand into her soft thin skinned brown hands. "You don't know. You just don't know...", Erica whispered. The older woman leaned into Erica's ear and whispered, "You'd be surprised what I know!" Erica looked up at the older woman, her eyes puzzled. She was about to ask the woman what she meant, when the doctor entered her room.
"I am Doctor Swanzy." A tall dark skinned woman with an African accent stood next to the bed. "Now, tell me, do you have a name, our mystery patient?" "Erica." The doctor took notes, turning pages of official looking documents held captive on her clipboard and asked for Erica's last name. "Gonzalez.", Erica answered. "Your friend here.." "Mrs. Celeste Warner", the older woman said, giving a quick smile Erica's way. Erica looked at Celeste with surprise and embarrassment and nodded. She had never asked the woman her name! "Your friend, Mrs. Warner has been very worried about you! Ms. Warner, if you step out for a few moments, I would like to make a quick examination of Miss?...." "Mrs.", Erica corrected. "Mrs. Gonzalez, " the doctor finished saying and again made a note on the pages of her clipboard. "I need to go home!" Erica now pleaded with the doctor. "In due time, in due time! Let me check you over...and then we can talk about going home." The doctor closed the door behind Celeste as she left the hospital room.
Celeste Warner paced the hall across from Erica's hospital room. A deep frown line appeared in the center of her forehead. "Oh yes, my dear! You'd be surprised, the things I know."
Friday, July 8, 2011
Glory "Amen" Johnson
(Have to back track her a little. Read Glory's story from June 18th, 2011 for background information. Then follow her to the Book Woman's Club Meeting on June 23rd. Sorry, but this was not written in sequence and I have to get all the characters to the June 23rd meeting! When the characters speak.... )
It was dark outside when Glory "Amen" Johnson came to. Starlight shimmered through the cathedral windows of Glory's dinning-room, the white light transformed into ruby red, emerald green and cobalt blue, as it passed through the rich colors of century old stained glass. Glory lifted her face out of the pool of saliva that had run out her open mouth as she lay on the hardwood floor in the entryway of her house. She wiped the spit off her face and sat up, dazed and confused, not knowing why she was on the floor! She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs that clouded her memory, and then painfully pulled herself up off of the floor. Glory groaned as she tried to straighten her bruised knees, and she pressed at the lump that had formed on her forehead. Had someone assaulted her when she came in the house? Her purse lay at her feet, the contents scattered like leaves blown by fall winds. Glory frantically looked around, her pulse beginning to race in fear! Was someone in the house with her? She backed up against the front door, tripping over her band of keys...and then she remembered! Lucifer!
Glory "Amen" Johnson's bruised knees buckled and she clutched the doorknob, gripping it like a lifeline thrown out on troubled waters, as she tried to keep herself from falling out on the floor again! She remembered! Glory nearly fell to the floor, overcome with unearthly fear, remembering what she had witnessed earlier that day, after the Book Woman Club Meeting! Thunderbird's unholy transformation into Satan, her...his dark wings lifting him...her into the sky at the corner of Teal and James Street, right here in Syracuse, New York!
"Merciful father!", Glory cried out and the words traveled through her dark house. Her fear became a black winged demon, flying from her imagination and into the corners of each room, lurking; ready to grab Glory and to take her down to hell! She released the doorknob, turned the deadbolt lock and ran to the kitchen. From a draw to the left of the sink, she grabbed a large butcher knife that had been passed down to Glory "Amen" Johnson's mother by her mother and then down to Glory. Glory crept from her kitchen with the knife held out in front of her, and began to look for the demon! Thunderbird! Lucifer!
Glory first searched the dinning-room, where her face was bathed in the fiery colors of the light flowing from the stained glass windows. Glory felt like the light came from Heaven itself and it fortified her as she searched her bathroom, and then her living-room, without incident. She then bravely stepped into the circular room that she used for prayer. Tall windows formed the street wall of the prayer room. The floor to ceiling windows had multiple clear glass panes, and tonight they glowed with the white light of the full moon. In this room, Glory "Amen" Johnson read her bible everyday when she woke up, and she finished everyday of her life with its holy pages open in her lap. The shadowy shimmer of dozens of crosses echoed each other on the half circle of walls across the back of the room, and covered Glory's face in their protective symbol. Glory's mother had left her the house when she died, and to bless the house, Glory had used her holy oil covered index finger to painstakingly trace the sign of the cross on each pane. Glory went to each window, the knife still held in one out-stretched hand, and closed the stark white curtains, giving Satan no view into this sacred space. Trembling, Glory continued her search for her evil adversary; the Dark One, the Anti-Christ, Lucifer...Satan!
Step by creaking step, Glory ascended to the top floor of her Victorian home. She cautiously looked down the hall, her head rising through the staircase opening as she walked, the rest of her shaking body following its ascent. She immediately pressed her back against the hallway wall. She edged along the wall towards the door leading to the attic. Glory checked the three hasp locks and the dead bolt. They were untouched. The attic was secure from outside forces. She slid over the door and continued down the hall, her back sliding towards the next bedroom door, the butcher knife now held in both hands. There were four bedrooms on the second floor. Glory slid along the wall and entered the closest room; the room that her mother had used in her last months on earth before God took her to be with Him. Glory smelled her mother's perfume as she slowly circled the room. Every morning Glory "Amen" Johnson sprayed her mother's favorite perfume, Chanel #5, on the pillow where her mother's head had last rested before her departure to Heaven. She tip-toed to the closet, took a deep breath and flung open the door, the huge knife raised and ready to strike! The closet was empty, except for her dead mothers clothing; they too refreshed each morning by a spritz of Chanel #5. Glory slid on down the hall to the rest of the bedrooms, her own monk like bedroom being the last, and found nothing in any of them to do battle with. She exhaled, not realizing until this moment, that she had been holding her breath. God had delivered her from being waylaid by Satan, and she took big gulps of air and relief!
Now, Glory's bedroom was in the smallest of the rooms on the second floor. It held a dresser, a padded dressing table chair, and a single bed. Her closet was empty. (Glory hung her cloths on a rack that sat in the corner of the room.) Glory "Amen" Johnson entered the closet, set the butcher knife on the floor and closed the door. Dropping to her knees in the dark closet, she began to pray, beginning as she always did with words from Matthew, Chapter 6, verse 6. "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into the closet and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to they Father which is in secret; and thy father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." Glory's praying continued, her prayer to the Lord pleading for deliverance from evil, "...For thine is the Kingdom and the power and the glory, for ever and ever..." Her voice rose to a fevered pitch as she ended the prayer with the age old word that was her middle name, the word her mother murmered each time she kissed young Glory goodnight on the forehead, after leading her through an hour of prayer; "Amen"! In the dark of that closet she prayed a third prayer for guidance and waited for an answer from God. She waited on the hard floor of that dark closet, her bruised knees throbbing their pain.
She waited.
And when the answer came, Glory felt around the floor in the dark of that prayer closet for the butcher knife. Finding it, she closed her hand around it's blade; wincing as the long, sharp pain of the knife slashed into the tender skin in the palm of her right hand. Ignoring the pain, Glory held tightly onto the knife's blade and stood up. She opened the closet door and with eyes glazed over like one who has seen the answers to the great mysteries, Glory headed downstairs, drops of blood marring the carpet on the stairs and the wood floors of her dinning-room and then her living-room, as she made the journey to her prayer room. The blood followed Glory into her circular prayer room and, as she stopped walking, poured over her shoes to pool at at her feet. She bent and set the knife down in the blood. With her bloody right hand, Glory lifted her heavy black bible from the table where it was left after her morning prayer. She raised the Holy Book into the air, and with a shouted "Hallelujah!", she threw the bloody bible onto the floor! It hit the pooling blood with a loud, wet thud, it's open pages skidding across the room! She slowly followed the trail of flung blood, her bloody footprints in tow, and picked up the Book. Glory "Amen" Johnson read God's words.
She knew exactly what she was called to do!
It was dark outside when Glory "Amen" Johnson came to. Starlight shimmered through the cathedral windows of Glory's dinning-room, the white light transformed into ruby red, emerald green and cobalt blue, as it passed through the rich colors of century old stained glass. Glory lifted her face out of the pool of saliva that had run out her open mouth as she lay on the hardwood floor in the entryway of her house. She wiped the spit off her face and sat up, dazed and confused, not knowing why she was on the floor! She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs that clouded her memory, and then painfully pulled herself up off of the floor. Glory groaned as she tried to straighten her bruised knees, and she pressed at the lump that had formed on her forehead. Had someone assaulted her when she came in the house? Her purse lay at her feet, the contents scattered like leaves blown by fall winds. Glory frantically looked around, her pulse beginning to race in fear! Was someone in the house with her? She backed up against the front door, tripping over her band of keys...and then she remembered! Lucifer!
Glory "Amen" Johnson's bruised knees buckled and she clutched the doorknob, gripping it like a lifeline thrown out on troubled waters, as she tried to keep herself from falling out on the floor again! She remembered! Glory nearly fell to the floor, overcome with unearthly fear, remembering what she had witnessed earlier that day, after the Book Woman Club Meeting! Thunderbird's unholy transformation into Satan, her...his dark wings lifting him...her into the sky at the corner of Teal and James Street, right here in Syracuse, New York!
"Merciful father!", Glory cried out and the words traveled through her dark house. Her fear became a black winged demon, flying from her imagination and into the corners of each room, lurking; ready to grab Glory and to take her down to hell! She released the doorknob, turned the deadbolt lock and ran to the kitchen. From a draw to the left of the sink, she grabbed a large butcher knife that had been passed down to Glory "Amen" Johnson's mother by her mother and then down to Glory. Glory crept from her kitchen with the knife held out in front of her, and began to look for the demon! Thunderbird! Lucifer!
Glory first searched the dinning-room, where her face was bathed in the fiery colors of the light flowing from the stained glass windows. Glory felt like the light came from Heaven itself and it fortified her as she searched her bathroom, and then her living-room, without incident. She then bravely stepped into the circular room that she used for prayer. Tall windows formed the street wall of the prayer room. The floor to ceiling windows had multiple clear glass panes, and tonight they glowed with the white light of the full moon. In this room, Glory "Amen" Johnson read her bible everyday when she woke up, and she finished everyday of her life with its holy pages open in her lap. The shadowy shimmer of dozens of crosses echoed each other on the half circle of walls across the back of the room, and covered Glory's face in their protective symbol. Glory's mother had left her the house when she died, and to bless the house, Glory had used her holy oil covered index finger to painstakingly trace the sign of the cross on each pane. Glory went to each window, the knife still held in one out-stretched hand, and closed the stark white curtains, giving Satan no view into this sacred space. Trembling, Glory continued her search for her evil adversary; the Dark One, the Anti-Christ, Lucifer...Satan!
Step by creaking step, Glory ascended to the top floor of her Victorian home. She cautiously looked down the hall, her head rising through the staircase opening as she walked, the rest of her shaking body following its ascent. She immediately pressed her back against the hallway wall. She edged along the wall towards the door leading to the attic. Glory checked the three hasp locks and the dead bolt. They were untouched. The attic was secure from outside forces. She slid over the door and continued down the hall, her back sliding towards the next bedroom door, the butcher knife now held in both hands. There were four bedrooms on the second floor. Glory slid along the wall and entered the closest room; the room that her mother had used in her last months on earth before God took her to be with Him. Glory smelled her mother's perfume as she slowly circled the room. Every morning Glory "Amen" Johnson sprayed her mother's favorite perfume, Chanel #5, on the pillow where her mother's head had last rested before her departure to Heaven. She tip-toed to the closet, took a deep breath and flung open the door, the huge knife raised and ready to strike! The closet was empty, except for her dead mothers clothing; they too refreshed each morning by a spritz of Chanel #5. Glory slid on down the hall to the rest of the bedrooms, her own monk like bedroom being the last, and found nothing in any of them to do battle with. She exhaled, not realizing until this moment, that she had been holding her breath. God had delivered her from being waylaid by Satan, and she took big gulps of air and relief!
Now, Glory's bedroom was in the smallest of the rooms on the second floor. It held a dresser, a padded dressing table chair, and a single bed. Her closet was empty. (Glory hung her cloths on a rack that sat in the corner of the room.) Glory "Amen" Johnson entered the closet, set the butcher knife on the floor and closed the door. Dropping to her knees in the dark closet, she began to pray, beginning as she always did with words from Matthew, Chapter 6, verse 6. "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into the closet and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to they Father which is in secret; and thy father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." Glory's praying continued, her prayer to the Lord pleading for deliverance from evil, "...For thine is the Kingdom and the power and the glory, for ever and ever..." Her voice rose to a fevered pitch as she ended the prayer with the age old word that was her middle name, the word her mother murmered each time she kissed young Glory goodnight on the forehead, after leading her through an hour of prayer; "Amen"! In the dark of that closet she prayed a third prayer for guidance and waited for an answer from God. She waited on the hard floor of that dark closet, her bruised knees throbbing their pain.
She waited.
And when the answer came, Glory felt around the floor in the dark of that prayer closet for the butcher knife. Finding it, she closed her hand around it's blade; wincing as the long, sharp pain of the knife slashed into the tender skin in the palm of her right hand. Ignoring the pain, Glory held tightly onto the knife's blade and stood up. She opened the closet door and with eyes glazed over like one who has seen the answers to the great mysteries, Glory headed downstairs, drops of blood marring the carpet on the stairs and the wood floors of her dinning-room and then her living-room, as she made the journey to her prayer room. The blood followed Glory into her circular prayer room and, as she stopped walking, poured over her shoes to pool at at her feet. She bent and set the knife down in the blood. With her bloody right hand, Glory lifted her heavy black bible from the table where it was left after her morning prayer. She raised the Holy Book into the air, and with a shouted "Hallelujah!", she threw the bloody bible onto the floor! It hit the pooling blood with a loud, wet thud, it's open pages skidding across the room! She slowly followed the trail of flung blood, her bloody footprints in tow, and picked up the Book. Glory "Amen" Johnson read God's words.
She knew exactly what she was called to do!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
"Lenora"
(Check out my blog on 5/14/11 for background information on Lenora! Thanks for reading my blog! If you enjoy it, give a heads up to your friends and invite them to join! Enjoy!)
It was hard for Lenora to concentrate on the new book that the Book Woman Club was reviewing,
The Color Purple, because Lenora was mad! Not at The Color Purple, but at Onondaga County! The county was cutting the Onondaga County Library System's budget again! She couldn't believe it! In this county where the city school district had a 55% high-school drop-out rate? This city who's literacy rate was below the national average? It was a crime! And it was a personal tragedy!
The county was talking about closing the downtown branch...where Lenora worked! She had 20 years on the job and now they were talking about letting her go! In addition, they were going to reduce staff in all branch libraries, and she just missed the seniority level that she needed to guarantee her job. "We have librarians who have twenty-five plus years on the job!" Her supervisor's excuse for her probable lay-off lay false in the churning pit of Lenora's anger! "How many of those old biddies, in all those branches across the whole library system, could have more years than I?", Lenora asked herself.
And she had asked the same question, using a better word than "biddies", of her supervisor's supervisor, and of her union rep, and of a condescending assistant to the County Executive! They all told her that there was nothing that they could do. The County Executive refused to see her, saying that she needed to take the matter up with her union representative! "I'll be damned if she ever gets another vote from me!", fumed Lenora!
Lenora was jerked out of her mad by the calling of her name. Everyone in the room was looking at her! Carol Jean said her name again, "Lenora, are you with us? We were asking you to give us your take on the relationship between Celie and Shug Avery. You know how we count on your literary expertise as a librarian in these discussions! Now stay with us child!" "I'm sorry, Miss Carol Jean. My mind was wandering. Now what was the question?" "Lorrie says that Celie and Shug Avery were lesbians." Carol Jean and the the group turned to look at Lorrie, who herself was of some literary notoriety. Lorrie was the only published writer that was a member of the Book Woman Club and her opinion, like Lenora's, had weight. Khadi-jah spoke up, "Oh, get over it! Lesbian's are a part of our society and deserve the same rights as everyone else! If the State Legislature does the right thing, the just thing; if we stand up and join in solidarity, the cause of our LGBT brothers and sisters, they will be given the rights of full citizenship and will be allowed to enjoy state sanctioned marriages! " Everyone in the room turned to look at Khadi-jah in confusion as Carol Jean gently said, "Now, child! Where did all that come from? No one said anything about the rights of Lesbians! We were just trying to clarify whether Celie and Shug Avery were lesbians or not! It's a little confusing with Celie and Mister having sex, then Shug Avery having sex with Mister, and then Celie and Shug Avery being under the sheets and all..."
"It's an abomination! I don't know why you so-called Christian women would choose this piece of literary filth to pollute your minds with! There needs to be a cleansing...a book burning! Let these sinful pages written in Sodom and Gomorrah burn in hell!" Glory "Amen" Johnson jumped up, shouting and waving a huge black Bible, blazing with religious fever and righteousness! She began speaking in tongues, tears streaming down her face!
Glory had refused to read The Color Purple, this book that she said was full of sin and sinners! She had brought her bible as a protest. (Actually Glory always had her bible with her at the Book Woman Club meetings, and always had something to protest concerning the books reviewed by the women. Usually is wasn't such a large Bible!) During the discussion three meetings ago, when the group had voted to do a nine week review of books that featured women in transformation, she had bitterly protested The Color Purple's presence on the list and had lost. They had voted to add it to the list. Although the Book Woman Club members had been a party to Glory's protests before, they had never before witnessed her in full Christian regalia! She had never jumped up and down like this, nor had she ever spoken in tongues! This was something new and way over the top, even for Glory "Amen" Johnson!
"Sit down, Glory!" Bessie Davis Hudson's "don't challenge me" tone accepted no disobedience, even from somebody as old as Glory! To every one's surprise, Glory did not sit down! She continued speaking in tongues, her jib-jabber words tumbling over themselves, her lips moving faster and faster! Bessie rose to her feet, making a second demand for Glory to sit down! Still, Glory did not sit down! She started to dance, and while her feet beat out their frantic rhythm on Carol Jean's well worn carpet, Glory began to scream! She turned and pointed her bible laden hand at Thunderbird, who's eyes widened as Glory shouted, "Oh, Lord in Heaven! Deliver me from this evil! Deliver us all from this Dark Angel of Hell!" Thunderbird's mouth dropped open as she and everyone else, except Lenora, rose to their feet; some frightened, some confused and some, well, just plain mad! Erica began to back away from Glory, her cafe-o- lait skin pale and sweating as she fainted! Khadi-jah, who was standing next to her, caught her before she hit the floor! "What the hell!" Khadi-jah grabbed one of Carol Jean's crocheted dollies off the back of one of the living-room chairs and began to fan Erica with it. "What the hell is going on?" "You watch your mouth in my house, young lady!", Carol Jean shouted at Khadi-jah. She tried to match the beat of Glory's tapping feet as she began to circle around behind her. Carol Jean wore a white nurses uniform every Sunday at the Most Holy of Holiness Baptist Church on the south-side of Syracuse. She knew how to take care of her sisters and brothers in the faith, who's bodies were taken by the Holy Ghost! She reached her arms out for Glory, ready to cradle her to the floor, and to minster to her after she had finished her dance. But Bessie, who was a Methodist, felt that there was only one course of action. She stepped in front of Glory, drew her arm back as far as she could and slapped her face! Carol Jean's living-room resounded with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, as Glory fell backwards from the force of Bessie's blow, and hit the floor! The rest of the Book Woman Club member, those standing, fell back into their chairs, as if Bessie had slapped each and everyone of them too! "Girl, you didn't have to do that!", Carol Jean said, as she gingerly lowered herself to the floor, arthritic knees creaking. She cradled Glory's head in her lap, like Glory was being rocked in the loving arms of Jesus. "Yes - I did! She was out of control. Nia! Go get Carol Jean some ice out the kitchen for Glory's face!" Nia jumped up and ran to the kitchen, looking over her shoulder, her face as dazed as those faces sitting in the book circle. Bessie walked over to Erica, and saw that Khadi-jah's frantic fanning had brought her around. "Looks like she's going to be alright." Bessie frowned as she heard Erica's barely audible praying. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...". Bessie sucked her teeth and shook her head. "Lord have mercy!" She took the kitchen towel covered ice from Nia, and sent her back into the kitchen to get another one. Glory began to weep from where she lay on the floor, and Carol Jean began to softly sing to her. "O troubled soul, be still. Fear not, thy Father's arms enfold thee.. " "Here", Bessie handed the make-shift ice pack to Carol Jean. "Put that on her cheek and take her on into your sitting room and give her some time to rest and pull herself together! Carmen! Take this little one home. I think the poor thing has had enough excitement for one night!" Bessie handed Carmen the second ice pack that Nia had just pressed into her hand, thanked Nia, and then helped Carmen get Erica to her feet. Nia zombie walked over to a chair and sat down. As Carmen lead the still praying Erica out the front door to her car, and Carol Jean took the weeping Glory "Amen" Johnson into her sitting room, Bessie got the discussion back on track. "That's the second time in a month that Glory has interrupted one of our meetings and has kept us from finishing our review! I won't have it! Now, lets get back to the book review and get it finished, so we can eat!" The women of the club picked up their books, smoothed their skirts and tucked their shocked expressions away. They knew that Miss Bessie did not play! "Lenora! What were you going to add to this discussion?" Bessie sat down, adjusted her bottom on the chair's soft cushion and looked expectantly at Lenora.
Now, Lenora had gone back to worrying about her job when Glory begun her rant, and had tuned out Glory's performance and Bessie's dramatic response. After accessing all of her options, Lenora had decided a plan of action. "They better not mess with me!" She thought. "They better not try and take my job! They don't know! They just don't know!" While Lenora knew that the county could take her job, she knew that there was something that no one could take from her. Knowledge! Experience! Once you learned how to do something, no one could take that knowledge away! No one! Lenora smiled to herself, her lips curving slowly upward. Once you knew how to make a bomb, you never forgot! Besides, she still had her copy of The Anarchist's Cookbook!
Lenora pulled herself to the edge of her chair, and sat up straight. Good posture was very important for a librarian. Lenora cleared her throat.
It was hard for Lenora to concentrate on the new book that the Book Woman Club was reviewing,
The Color Purple, because Lenora was mad! Not at The Color Purple, but at Onondaga County! The county was cutting the Onondaga County Library System's budget again! She couldn't believe it! In this county where the city school district had a 55% high-school drop-out rate? This city who's literacy rate was below the national average? It was a crime! And it was a personal tragedy!
The county was talking about closing the downtown branch...where Lenora worked! She had 20 years on the job and now they were talking about letting her go! In addition, they were going to reduce staff in all branch libraries, and she just missed the seniority level that she needed to guarantee her job. "We have librarians who have twenty-five plus years on the job!" Her supervisor's excuse for her probable lay-off lay false in the churning pit of Lenora's anger! "How many of those old biddies, in all those branches across the whole library system, could have more years than I?", Lenora asked herself.
And she had asked the same question, using a better word than "biddies", of her supervisor's supervisor, and of her union rep, and of a condescending assistant to the County Executive! They all told her that there was nothing that they could do. The County Executive refused to see her, saying that she needed to take the matter up with her union representative! "I'll be damned if she ever gets another vote from me!", fumed Lenora!
Lenora was jerked out of her mad by the calling of her name. Everyone in the room was looking at her! Carol Jean said her name again, "Lenora, are you with us? We were asking you to give us your take on the relationship between Celie and Shug Avery. You know how we count on your literary expertise as a librarian in these discussions! Now stay with us child!" "I'm sorry, Miss Carol Jean. My mind was wandering. Now what was the question?" "Lorrie says that Celie and Shug Avery were lesbians." Carol Jean and the the group turned to look at Lorrie, who herself was of some literary notoriety. Lorrie was the only published writer that was a member of the Book Woman Club and her opinion, like Lenora's, had weight. Khadi-jah spoke up, "Oh, get over it! Lesbian's are a part of our society and deserve the same rights as everyone else! If the State Legislature does the right thing, the just thing; if we stand up and join in solidarity, the cause of our LGBT brothers and sisters, they will be given the rights of full citizenship and will be allowed to enjoy state sanctioned marriages! " Everyone in the room turned to look at Khadi-jah in confusion as Carol Jean gently said, "Now, child! Where did all that come from? No one said anything about the rights of Lesbians! We were just trying to clarify whether Celie and Shug Avery were lesbians or not! It's a little confusing with Celie and Mister having sex, then Shug Avery having sex with Mister, and then Celie and Shug Avery being under the sheets and all..."
"It's an abomination! I don't know why you so-called Christian women would choose this piece of literary filth to pollute your minds with! There needs to be a cleansing...a book burning! Let these sinful pages written in Sodom and Gomorrah burn in hell!" Glory "Amen" Johnson jumped up, shouting and waving a huge black Bible, blazing with religious fever and righteousness! She began speaking in tongues, tears streaming down her face!
Glory had refused to read The Color Purple, this book that she said was full of sin and sinners! She had brought her bible as a protest. (Actually Glory always had her bible with her at the Book Woman Club meetings, and always had something to protest concerning the books reviewed by the women. Usually is wasn't such a large Bible!) During the discussion three meetings ago, when the group had voted to do a nine week review of books that featured women in transformation, she had bitterly protested The Color Purple's presence on the list and had lost. They had voted to add it to the list. Although the Book Woman Club members had been a party to Glory's protests before, they had never before witnessed her in full Christian regalia! She had never jumped up and down like this, nor had she ever spoken in tongues! This was something new and way over the top, even for Glory "Amen" Johnson!
"Sit down, Glory!" Bessie Davis Hudson's "don't challenge me" tone accepted no disobedience, even from somebody as old as Glory! To every one's surprise, Glory did not sit down! She continued speaking in tongues, her jib-jabber words tumbling over themselves, her lips moving faster and faster! Bessie rose to her feet, making a second demand for Glory to sit down! Still, Glory did not sit down! She started to dance, and while her feet beat out their frantic rhythm on Carol Jean's well worn carpet, Glory began to scream! She turned and pointed her bible laden hand at Thunderbird, who's eyes widened as Glory shouted, "Oh, Lord in Heaven! Deliver me from this evil! Deliver us all from this Dark Angel of Hell!" Thunderbird's mouth dropped open as she and everyone else, except Lenora, rose to their feet; some frightened, some confused and some, well, just plain mad! Erica began to back away from Glory, her cafe-o- lait skin pale and sweating as she fainted! Khadi-jah, who was standing next to her, caught her before she hit the floor! "What the hell!" Khadi-jah grabbed one of Carol Jean's crocheted dollies off the back of one of the living-room chairs and began to fan Erica with it. "What the hell is going on?" "You watch your mouth in my house, young lady!", Carol Jean shouted at Khadi-jah. She tried to match the beat of Glory's tapping feet as she began to circle around behind her. Carol Jean wore a white nurses uniform every Sunday at the Most Holy of Holiness Baptist Church on the south-side of Syracuse. She knew how to take care of her sisters and brothers in the faith, who's bodies were taken by the Holy Ghost! She reached her arms out for Glory, ready to cradle her to the floor, and to minster to her after she had finished her dance. But Bessie, who was a Methodist, felt that there was only one course of action. She stepped in front of Glory, drew her arm back as far as she could and slapped her face! Carol Jean's living-room resounded with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, as Glory fell backwards from the force of Bessie's blow, and hit the floor! The rest of the Book Woman Club member, those standing, fell back into their chairs, as if Bessie had slapped each and everyone of them too! "Girl, you didn't have to do that!", Carol Jean said, as she gingerly lowered herself to the floor, arthritic knees creaking. She cradled Glory's head in her lap, like Glory was being rocked in the loving arms of Jesus. "Yes - I did! She was out of control. Nia! Go get Carol Jean some ice out the kitchen for Glory's face!" Nia jumped up and ran to the kitchen, looking over her shoulder, her face as dazed as those faces sitting in the book circle. Bessie walked over to Erica, and saw that Khadi-jah's frantic fanning had brought her around. "Looks like she's going to be alright." Bessie frowned as she heard Erica's barely audible praying. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...". Bessie sucked her teeth and shook her head. "Lord have mercy!" She took the kitchen towel covered ice from Nia, and sent her back into the kitchen to get another one. Glory began to weep from where she lay on the floor, and Carol Jean began to softly sing to her. "O troubled soul, be still. Fear not, thy Father's arms enfold thee.. " "Here", Bessie handed the make-shift ice pack to Carol Jean. "Put that on her cheek and take her on into your sitting room and give her some time to rest and pull herself together! Carmen! Take this little one home. I think the poor thing has had enough excitement for one night!" Bessie handed Carmen the second ice pack that Nia had just pressed into her hand, thanked Nia, and then helped Carmen get Erica to her feet. Nia zombie walked over to a chair and sat down. As Carmen lead the still praying Erica out the front door to her car, and Carol Jean took the weeping Glory "Amen" Johnson into her sitting room, Bessie got the discussion back on track. "That's the second time in a month that Glory has interrupted one of our meetings and has kept us from finishing our review! I won't have it! Now, lets get back to the book review and get it finished, so we can eat!" The women of the club picked up their books, smoothed their skirts and tucked their shocked expressions away. They knew that Miss Bessie did not play! "Lenora! What were you going to add to this discussion?" Bessie sat down, adjusted her bottom on the chair's soft cushion and looked expectantly at Lenora.
Now, Lenora had gone back to worrying about her job when Glory begun her rant, and had tuned out Glory's performance and Bessie's dramatic response. After accessing all of her options, Lenora had decided a plan of action. "They better not mess with me!" She thought. "They better not try and take my job! They don't know! They just don't know!" While Lenora knew that the county could take her job, she knew that there was something that no one could take from her. Knowledge! Experience! Once you learned how to do something, no one could take that knowledge away! No one! Lenora smiled to herself, her lips curving slowly upward. Once you knew how to make a bomb, you never forgot! Besides, she still had her copy of The Anarchist's Cookbook!
Lenora pulled herself to the edge of her chair, and sat up straight. Good posture was very important for a librarian. Lenora cleared her throat.
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