Momma's Baby

     When I was six, my mother would always call me her little bear cub, saying I slept through even the worst storms. She told me I could probably sleep through a hurricane if one ever hit our small, sleepy town in Ireland. She said that always made her worry... I told her she was odd and not to worry, as I stepped on the Titanic to go to America.

     My head hit the top bunk with a hard thunk, it began to pulse painfully. My eyes scanned the dimmed room, I could hear thumping outside the door. Who would be running around at this hour? I thought. I had always been good at timing, my mother said. My toes slipped out from under momma's warm blanket to the cold floor. A shiver ran down my back under my plain nightgown, making my blonde hair stand on end. How queer. I'm not usually this cold. I wrapped momma's blanket around my shoulder's, dark from working in the garden with my sister's who had stood ither six inches taller or two feet shorter.

     My head began to spin as I stood up too quickly. I fell back down to my bed. Air. I need air. Slowly, I stood up and snuck away out the door like my puppy, Hounder, who liked to sneak off for a midnight snack of rabbit or possom. The air hit me with a bitter cold twist. I shook all over, my teeth chatered involuntarily, the blanket slipped away from my shoulders, and I wished to go back to bed. But I saw a man running toward me, he wore the clothing of a man on crew. I stopped him.

     "Excuse me, sir. What-" I began thru chattering teeth. He cut me off.
     "Run! The boat is going down!" He ran off banging on the doors as he went yelling "The Titanic is sinking! The Titanic is sinking!"

     I felt my eyes grow wide like an owl. The atmosphere on the boat changed. All of sudden everyone went running out of there rooms. The classes blurred together as they ran to reach the life boats like animals: pushing people down, clawing to get to the lifeboat first, and running past like rhinos. I felt cold, greedy fingers push my frozen form to the ground my firey red curls swung round my face as I hit the deck. Momma...Dear God please let mother be okay.Please don't let her worry about me.

     I tried to get up quickly enough to find a lifeboat to sneak on. SLAM. The stewards crammed us back with a click of a lock. What was going on? There eyes spoke the truth: sorrow, remorse, despair... but mostly remorse. I heard people yell 'let us out' and 'don't do this'. I saw grimy fingers trying to reach out to the stewards. I felt them push me into the bars as they tried to find a way to pull off the lock. I could almost taste death.

     "Forgive them, God, for they have sinned. Forgive them for putting us behind bars as though we have no worth. Forgive them, Lord, for they are sinners." I prayed as I saw life boat after lifeboat fill halfway then lower without me, momma's middle born. "Forgive me. Forgive the hate I now hold in my heart towards these men." I spat. "Show me the strength to forgive them. Show me the light to you, oh heavenly father."

     Suddenly a frail old woman joined my prayers and so did a small young boy. We held each other as we saw them lower the last life boat.... "Amen." I whispered with them as felt my heart let go of all the pain and saw the sea pass over my body. Momma's blanket wasn't so warm anymore. It was cold, heavy, and a bitter reminder I wouldn't make it. Not unless a miracle happened.

     Momma's baby sank with the ship behind the gate the stewards had locked by the captains command. As much as I wanted to hate them, I was to good a woman for that. I closed my eyes with the water and let it wash me free of my sin. The hate I held in my heart. I let go of the bars and floated back, felt the bubbles go out my nose, the ice envelop 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. Forgive me, sinner that I am lord, as I forgive them.

    

The Sunflower Effect

The Sunflower by Simon Wiesenthal
Page 92 "Was sorrow our common link? Was it possible for grief to be an affinity?"

     Within this scene Wiesenthal is meeting with Karl, the SS man's, kindhearted mother who is speaking about what a good boy he was. Yet as she says this Wiesenthal wonders if he should tell her the "naked truth" and about all the things that Karl did when he was alive. However as he sees the grief within her, he understands his own grief and now feels a connection with this woman who birthed the man who could have killed him or someone he knew, yet he cannot tell her. He doesn't want to cause this poor woman any more pain than she has already found with the loss of husband and son.
     In this world we are all divided by race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, and money, friends, and so much more. We all act superior to one another and people usually just lay back and accept it. In school the board holds jocks and cheerleaders about those on say drama club or archery. But when tragedy strikes we find one bond in a million differences. We find ourselves caught up in the moments of heartache and grief and we can see an invisible connection between us.
     For example in the junior high a year ago, a retired teacher passed away. I personally never knew her, she had long since retired before I attended this school. Yet I saw one of my best friends finding comfort with girls she always claimed to not like very well. They were all crying together in the office and comforting one another: cheerleaders and nerds; stylish and the not; the sweet and the not-so-kindhearted. Grief is our affinity. I witnessed it myself.

The Forgiveness Thing

A young woman aborts her baby to avoid the social stigma of being an unwed mother and child.

     If you abort your baby, you are commiting murder. Instead of being selfish and doing the dirty deed and not dealing with the consequences, you can give your baby a better life by giving them up for adoption. Why should I forgive you for your triple sin of premarital sex, abortion, and murder when you brought it upon yourself? I wish I could forgive you, but abortion for selfish reasons instead of a more understandable reason is unforgivable. Forgiveness is not a right, but a gift. I cannot give you that gift, just like you couldn't give your baby life.

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The Kindest Poem You Will Ever Read

She had just a dollar to her name
     No more. No less. Bankrupt and Expecting.
He was a man with millions to his name.
     The name that owned a political smile.

As church began she sat in the back alone.
     Like the last leaf on a tree at winter.
The man entered like a celebrity and sat next to her
     he smiled that smile and said 'Welcome.'

The offering was coming just like the British
     It taunted her and her hamey-downs too.
The offering was coming just like the British
     It looked sweetly at him, his wallet too.

She plucked out a dollar
     And kissed it into the offering
He pulled out four crumpled hundreds
     And just them on in

At the end she walked to her car,
     more used than vowels
And on the winshield and envelope
    with four crisp one-hundreds, a note too

God Bless You. Your Baby, too.
    You gave all you had without hesitation.
So have a wonderful life.
     You are a wonderful woman.

Years later she saw him again.
     At church he sat with his grandchild.
She hugged him so tight
     like a cobra around it's pray.

God Bless You. Your grandbaby, too.
     Because of you, I got my life together.
And I am thankful for you.
     You are a wonderful man,

Lenny's American Dream

     He's a massive moron with a murderous streak against puppies and mice who's dream is to own land with his buddy, George, so he, the massive moron, can tend to the rabbits. Okay slight exaggeration and by the way his name is Lenny. Lenny is a massive moron ,but he doesn't mean to hurt all the animals, but his strength out weighs his kind soul. In John Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men", a historical fiction novella, John Steinbeck brings to life Lenny and his "American Dream".
     Lenny's "American Dream" is to own a piece of land with a house with George and to tend to the rabbits. It seems that no matter who he's talking to or where he is, rabbits and the dream are always on the brain. He talked to Crooks about it and even to the "seductive" wife of Curly. All he wanted was to own that land with rabbits with George.
     "Lenny you don't know a damn thing, but you every word I say." George says this to Lenny through the story. It shows that Lenny's "American Dream" is what may keep going and from giving up like lots of others in the story who travel alone and don't seem to trust anyone. George was the only one who had stuck around with Lenny. Even when Lenny messed up, George was there to get him out of trouble. It made Lenny want to do this to, maybe help pay back George for all the trouble he had cause over the years and the most recent accident when a woman yelled RAPE because Lenny touched her dress and held on. As George said, "He's so damn stupid all he could think do was hold on."
     Trouble lingered around for Lenny. As sweet as he was his strength got him and George back into trouble after he accidentally kills Curly's wife. The "American Dream" not only shaped his life, but his death as well. After Lenny accidentally kills Curly's wife, he did as George said and went back to their place. George had Lenny think on their dream as he shot Lenny in the back of the head, before Curly and the other's came after Lenny and did worse.
     Lenny's American Dream shaped his life and his death. It was all he wanted in life and the last thing he thought of as he died by George's hand.

Cushman Bulldogs

Following the giant, neon white paw prints up the road smushed between the white-n-red fire station and the run down do-it-yourself car wash, I come up to Cushman School. The school I had been attending since I was a preschooler and a bundle of energy. The scent of acryllic paint and clay coming from the colorful-inside art room and the scent of deodorant and perfume and TAG coming from the new gym with shiny wood floors and fresh paint on the cement walls. Just past the new gym sat two baseball fields. One freshly mowed and with the bases clean, the stands covered in sharpie with years of love and best friends, the snack bar still standing a scent of nacho cheese and hot dogs would arise every summer when the baseball season started up again. The other old and abandonded. The bases covered in a small layer of dust. Turning from the new baseball field with its multiple sponsers signs on the chain link fence is the old gym. The lights dimmed to a point of no return the stands filled with old chairs and desks and random tshirts and socks left over the years. A stale scent in the air. The hoops just bare rims and the giant foam matts for vault jumps torn and tattered as everyone jumps all over them. The window at the end revealing the Dog Pound where high schoolers go at lunch to munch on pop tarts and juice. The walls covered in bulldogs. Friends whisper about their latest crush and who is a jerk. Outside The library stands proud and full of a variety of books. The back section poetry, the front section the books for the the younger kids. Tables in the center and everyones favorite, crazy, eccentric librarion always dressed up when character dress up day turns up. The high school standing with brick walls. The school always homely and close just like a small school is. The buses lined out front, my bus always the bright yellow one. The middle school now in brick after once dying in a fire in the eighties or nighties, but once again standing tall with the computer lab and the red lockers. The two playgrounds for the younger kids shine happily. The giant purple and grayed wood jungle gym with the curly slide. The pebble ground always falling onto the sidewalk. The scent of biscuts and gravy or hamburgers coming from the cafeteria just a hill climb away. Friends jump from the hill and roll down it to the basketball court where the boys play and on the side girls make up cheers and do the cheers from Bring It On with a little revision. The kidergartens go in to the elementary back to their nap mats or to a fruit rollup snack wiating for them. The school once a vibrant piece of life now dead by society. The school shut down for "not enough kids". R.I.P CUSHMAN SCHOOL