SLAM!
Beth flew down the porch steps as the screen door crashed into the side of the single-wide trailer. Her stepfather, Frank’s, yells faded into the background as the nine-year-old ran to the next street and turned the corner.
Her heart pounding, Beth eased up, slowing to a trot before finally coming to a rest at a small strand of trees near the edge of the trailer park’s retention pond. The street lights that had come on at dusk barely reached this far out, but there was still enough light left to see the uneven ground. Beth flopped to the grass on her stomach, rubbing at a stitch in her left side while she caught her breath.
Stifling a sneeze from the tall grass and weeds, she wondered at her own brazenness at running away. She hated that her mom had forced her come along on this visit to Frank’s mother in rural Tennessee. Beth barely knew the woman; the old hag was scrawny and strict and smoked an endless train of Parliments.
But, the grown-ups had felt the need to show off Mrs. Kapinski’s rapidly swelling belly; a physical manifestation of the squeaks, moans and other nightly sounds Beth had been suffering through for the six months since her mom remarried.
Beth stuck out her tongue in defiance and flipped over onto her back. The grass was warm and only slightly scratchy. After a few minutes, the cicadas and pond frogs got over the disturbance her sudden appearance had caused and restarted their familiar noises. Soothed, Beth looked up at the stars beginning to appear in the sky above her.
She idly traced the blister that was forming on her right forearm; unused to the cheap twist-and-turn knob on the trailer's bathroom door, Beth had accidentally locked herself in earlier that afternoon. In her panic, she’d begun screaming and banging on the door to get out. Frank had to take the door off its hinges to get her out. As soon as the door was removed and Beth had seen his face, blurry through her tears, she’d known she was in for it.
Sure enough, Frank had grasped her arm and yanked her out of the tiny bathroom, smacking at her backside whenever he could reach it past her squirming. Beth’s mom quickly convinced him to take her for a ride in their old Chevy, leaving Beth alone with Frank’s mother. The witch had promptly put the lit end of her cigarette to Beth’s arm as punishment for upsetting her "father."
It was Beth's reaction to that term that led to Frank's mother calling her an ungrateful bastard - leading to another confrontation when her mom and Frank returned about 15 minutes ago.
Beth didn't want to think about what was going to happen when she went back to the trailer. Her bravado started to fade as she realized the enormity of what she'd done. She was hours from home or anyone she knew and now that she thought about it, she realized how hungry she was.
As if in concert with her growing fear, the insects once again fell silent, and a split-second later Beth heard the crack of a branch being stepped on. Something was coming through the brush on the other side of the pond. The deepening dark hid the intruder in shadows and Beth held her breath...
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The one where I curse Michele for reminding me of freshman English class
A few months ago, I was whining about my dissatisfaction with my life, and my own lack of motivation. A friend challenged me to actually do something about it. I accepted the challenge and promptly sat back on the couch and forgot about it. She finally got sick of my excuses and told me to "[write] a story about what your perfect life would be if you didn't have any financial or physical limitations."
During my freshman year of college, in my English 101 class, I was given an assignment to write about my own personal hero. It was a purely subjective topic; who can say what makes someone a "hero" to another person? I wrote that I did not have a "hero," but that I admired my mother for the way she conducted her life. I got a C- on the paper. Not because of the writing style, or any technical deficiencies, but simply because the grad student who taught the class didn't like that I didn't follow the rest of the class in writing about Ghandi or Mother Theresa, or any of the other typical heroes.
He offered me the chance to rewrite the paper. I next wrote that while it was good to have people to look up to, it seemed that the public chose heroes based on a particular skill set (athletic prowess, charm, physical appearance, public works) and not on how a person handled themselves on a day-to-day basis. I criticized the assignment as short-sighted and superficial. I got an F on the rewrite, but I stood by my sentiment.
I look at my mother and I see someone who may not be satisfied with how her life turned out, but who is determined to wake up and meet her obligations every day. She didn't get a chance to go to college (I couldn't say if she ever really wanted to), began working at an early age, and then became a single mother. She married my father when I was young, had another daughter, and re-entered the workforce.
What hopes and dreams did she have for herself before her life changed? Did she even think that she had options beyond being a wife and mother and working at a pink-collar job until she retired? About 15-20 years ago, I asked her if she had to do it [being a single mom] all over again, would she? She thought a minute and said, "no." It hurt me deeply at the time - to think that her life wasn't satisfying enough and that she had such regrets that she never voiced. I understand her answer a lot better now.
It's not every day that you get the chance to truly help out someone else, in a spectacular fashion. There are unsung heroes in all of our lives. Not just the people who volunteer, or make massive contributions to worthy causes, but those who plod along their daily lives with minimal complaints.
So, although I can't turn back time - and really, considering the consequences to myself, I wouldn't - if I had unlimited financial resources, I would give my mother whatever she wanted. I expect that she would make different choices with this opportunity than she would have if she'd been presented with it 38 years ago. I expect that she would travel some, with or without the rest of us. She'd probably then buy a property somewhere where she would relax. She probably wouldn't settle too close to her family, if for no other reason than for a change of pace.
I suppose this isn't technically writing about what my perfect life would be, but then again I never was good at following directions. Besides, it would be worth it to see my mother get the chance to spread her wings, even this late in the game. And that would be perfect.
During my freshman year of college, in my English 101 class, I was given an assignment to write about my own personal hero. It was a purely subjective topic; who can say what makes someone a "hero" to another person? I wrote that I did not have a "hero," but that I admired my mother for the way she conducted her life. I got a C- on the paper. Not because of the writing style, or any technical deficiencies, but simply because the grad student who taught the class didn't like that I didn't follow the rest of the class in writing about Ghandi or Mother Theresa, or any of the other typical heroes.
He offered me the chance to rewrite the paper. I next wrote that while it was good to have people to look up to, it seemed that the public chose heroes based on a particular skill set (athletic prowess, charm, physical appearance, public works) and not on how a person handled themselves on a day-to-day basis. I criticized the assignment as short-sighted and superficial. I got an F on the rewrite, but I stood by my sentiment.
I look at my mother and I see someone who may not be satisfied with how her life turned out, but who is determined to wake up and meet her obligations every day. She didn't get a chance to go to college (I couldn't say if she ever really wanted to), began working at an early age, and then became a single mother. She married my father when I was young, had another daughter, and re-entered the workforce.
What hopes and dreams did she have for herself before her life changed? Did she even think that she had options beyond being a wife and mother and working at a pink-collar job until she retired? About 15-20 years ago, I asked her if she had to do it [being a single mom] all over again, would she? She thought a minute and said, "no." It hurt me deeply at the time - to think that her life wasn't satisfying enough and that she had such regrets that she never voiced. I understand her answer a lot better now.
It's not every day that you get the chance to truly help out someone else, in a spectacular fashion. There are unsung heroes in all of our lives. Not just the people who volunteer, or make massive contributions to worthy causes, but those who plod along their daily lives with minimal complaints.
So, although I can't turn back time - and really, considering the consequences to myself, I wouldn't - if I had unlimited financial resources, I would give my mother whatever she wanted. I expect that she would make different choices with this opportunity than she would have if she'd been presented with it 38 years ago. I expect that she would travel some, with or without the rest of us. She'd probably then buy a property somewhere where she would relax. She probably wouldn't settle too close to her family, if for no other reason than for a change of pace.
I suppose this isn't technically writing about what my perfect life would be, but then again I never was good at following directions. Besides, it would be worth it to see my mother get the chance to spread her wings, even this late in the game. And that would be perfect.
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