Taking on the day
that the Lord has made,
I try to rejoice and be glad.
My brain is full of messages and replaying images
vying for my focus and cluttering my thoughts.
turning to the Lord in entreaty and faith,
it seems I am walking on the wire between faith and and anguish.
Double-minded walking...the thought pierces me and brings me low.
He is worthy to receive honor,
worthy to receive praise,
and yet I am walking on the wire between faith, trust, and white-knuckle tension.
I look beneath the wire I see in my mind
and see the grass below looming as a ravenous lion in a den-like cave...
A hand pulls my head up to focus on Jesus,
and His eyes bring me back to the knowing of grace...
to trust in His mercy
I will just have to trust Him,
and moment by moment relinquish my all.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Alexander isolated 5-27-07
MOM! DAD! I’m home, and we got company! Bitsy called as they entered a cramped front room, full of old furniture hiding its age under throws and doilies. The sound of running water and soft clear singing came from the kitchen, which you saw just by looking through the dining room, which you saw just by looking through the living room. Bitsy put her bookbag on the stairs and motioned Alexander to do the same. Glancing up, Alexander was startled to see a large, bearded man standing at the top of the stairs. He was silently regarding Alexander, his expression puzzled and anxious. “Bits,” he said finally, not taking his eyes off Alexander, “you come to take me in? I been good ever since—“
“Rob, “Bitsy broke in, stepping in front of Alexander and holding out her hand, “This is my friend Alexander from school. Come on down and meet him.” The big man hesitantly descended, taking Alexander’s hand in a massive paw with a strangely gently grip. Then it came to Alexander. This was the shirtless giant who had broken up the parade and gotten Wilf all worked up enough to….. Lose control, sort of. But all Alexander said was, “pleased to meet you, Rob,” returning that steady gaze until Rob relaxed a little and said shyly, “Friends of my sister are souls well met,” and he turned to go back upstairs. Bitsy grabbed his hand and kissed it, getting a slow smile for her pains, and then he was gone. Bitsy showed Alexander the telephone, and he was sure his mother was smiling as she approved his evening “studying” with Bitsy.
“Bretaine, Bretaine, is that you, dearie?” The singing had stopped, but not the water and the voice from the kitchen appeared as a small woman with short cloud-gray hair and pink cheeks, drying her hands on a cloth and smiling as she caught sight of her daughter. She kissed the crown of Bitsy’s head, extended a small, rough hand to Alexander with a wink, and drew them both back into her realm. The sink was running water over a large pot turned bottom up. It was mostly covered with runny black stuff. It looked like Mrs. Bruce had been scrubbing away at it. Her face was flushed and moist, and her hands were warm from the water, and almost as red as her cheeks. She exchanged knowing looks with her daughter, and for Alexander’s benefit she added, with obvious good cheer, “ Himself will have been preparin’ his famous barley pottage, and who’s to pay the piper but me, now. And where have you two reeves been this day? Is all peaceful at school and on the street?” Her shrewd eyes took them in at a glance, and she sat the two youngsters down at her tiny table in the corner and produced crockery mugs of cold milk and a plate of shortbread squares. She went back to her scrubbing and listened while they told the story of Noyes’ folly and his arrest at the meeting. When they had finished she tut-tutted and shook her head, bending over her pot and muttering clearly enough to be heard, “and another clan is without its dearest, thanks to them devils, and for what?” Then she remembered that Alexander was also an agent of “them devils,” and she excused herself, turning to brush a strand of hair from her face, using the one holding the brush, then gesticulating with her soapy scepter until suds were everywhere, “ I’m never the one to stand in anyone’s road, mind you, now, if the journey is worthwhile………” she paused as she returned the brush to the sink and dried her hands again, “ but I can’t be having with sending young’uns away, not for any reason, and I’ll tell that to anybody. Sending the likes of you out to remind those who’ve forgotten their manners, once the schoolin’s over, that’s one thing. But when day is done, families are meant to gather, is all I’ll be sayin’. ” Alexander smiled at Bitsy to let her know he wasn’t taking offense, and Mrs. Bruce went back to drying the big pot and hanging it on the wall with the others, all similarly scoured and scrubbed, not a matching pair among them.
The front door opened, and the sound of singing came to them, a man’s deep, rough voice: “an’ would I give ye o’er, would I sell my heart for aye….” And Mrs. Bruce, smiling at the two children, gave the refrain in her own clear soprano, “ nae linen, lamb nae lands wou’ do,” and they finished together, facing each other across the kitchen, “ to live nae more wi’ you….” Bitsy may have been a bit embarrassed, but she was smiling, and Mr. and Mrs. Bruce were unabashed. After a moment Mr. Bruce noticed Alexander and offered his hand. It was almost as big as his son’s, and every bit as gentle. Bitsy spoke up, “Dad, this is my friend Alexander Wozniak.” Mr. Bruce held Alexander’s eyes, finally saying, with a twinkle, “If our Bretaine brought you, you can stay.”
Supper at the Bruce home reminded Alexander of his own family dinners. Bitsy kept shooting glances at him, wondering if her family was strange or “unsound” to Alexander’s trained eye. He could only give her small smiles, hoping she could see that he was not inclined to find fault at all. Rob came downstairs without being called, and his dad touched his shoulder, and Rob answered, “keeping well, dad?” and he helped his mother set out the table: heavy plates with a rough brown finish ,the same plain mugs that had been used for snack , and real silver utensils, soft and bent from use, polished to a soft shine. Mr. Bruce’s special pottage was placed in honor at the center of the table, and brown bread appeared from the big old oven where it had been keeping warm. They joined hands before they ate, and Alexander was confused and fascinated to be holding Bitsy’s tiny hand in his left, and Rob’s huge hand in his right. Both Bruces, both kind and gentle, each stirring different feelings in him as they bowed for Dad’s grace. “Our Maker, all we have is Yours, and ourselves we freely give, amen.
They tucked into the steaming stew, rich and lumpy with some kind of meat, and Alexander noted that Rob and his dad dragged their bread through the hot mixture, while Bitsy and her mother alternated bites, but no one gave anyone a lecture. Alexander found himself digging into his bowl of barley, even though he couldn’t taste it very well through his DOOK. There were crunchy bits and the meat was tender; the whole thing just felt good in his mouth. And the bread was crusty and coarse and gave up a sweetness that made you want to chew it. Certainly it was a big change from his mother’s daily fare, and from Mr. Wozniak’s spicy weekend dishes.
“So Bretaine’s been telling us that you’re a smart one,” Mr. Bruce said. “Says you been skippin’ grades and all, and now you two are the youngest ones in your classes.” He smiled through his trim black beard, “and likely the smallest, too, I’ll guess. Takes a bit of sand in your gut to make a way in this Great Society, that’s certain enough.”
Alexander didn’t know how to reply, but he nodded and said, “yes sir. But Bitsy’s the smartest one in school. No one else’s skipped two grades.” Bitsy’s head was tucked into her bowl, so Alexander couldn’t tell if she was blushing.
“Is she, now?” Mr. Bruce acted surprised, but his eyes were twinkling and Alexander started to understand that he enjoyed teasing his children, especially in company. “And here was me thinkin’ those were just bricks in that bag, for drivin’ boys away!” Rob laughed in appreciation, a deep rumble, pleasant to Alexander’s ear. “Dad!” Bitsy complained, “Stop. Please.” Her face had turned the prettiest shade of pink, and she resembled her mother even more. Mrs. Bruce was giggling into her napkin, but she spoke up, “Now, Robert, we have a guest, and our Bretaine knows she’s smart, and pretty besides, don’t you, dearie?” This only made Bitsy blush more deeply, and she held her napkin over her face, but her ears shone bright red under her blonde curls. Suddenly Mr. Bruce, Rob and Bitsy’s mother were laughing out loud, and Mr. Bruce almost choked on his bread, and Rob went to slap him on the back but Mr. Bruce held up a hand, still laughing, and said, “There she goes again, hidin’ from her adorin’ public, and all of us just hopin’ for a smile.” Bitsy waited for quiet, then dropped her napkin back in her lap and fiercely attacked her barley. But her ears stayed pink for quite a while, and she was grinning, too.
When they had all eaten enough pottage and bread, Bitsy and her mother cleared the plates, leaving Alexander at the table with Rob and Mr. Bruce. “Alexander Wozniak, is it?” Mr. Bruce asked, taking a toothpick from a bowl on the table. “yes sir.” ‘is your dad the same Wozniak who runs my department at Progressive Programs?”
“yes sir, he’s an engineer for them.”
“Smart man, that,” said Mr. Bruce, nodding. “And fair. Don’t know him, actually, he’s over the lot of us in Security Interfaces. I’m just a writer, actually. But he’s got a good name. Not an easy thing to keep in these times.”
Alexander was a little embarrassed, not least because his dad had never told him anything about his work, more than a shrug and a “well, never mind.” He said, “ yes, sir. And what do all of you do in that department? “ and , in response to Mr. Bruce’s unspoken question he added, “ Dad doesn’t talk much about work, really.”
Never taking his eyes off Alexander, Mr. Bruce used his napkin, tossed it on the table, and said, “ Doesn’t he, now? Can’t say as I blame him. And, it’s not for me to tell tales, if that’s his way, but…. It’s no secret, really, We’re tasked with keeping folks out of places in the software that are restricted to all but a few. I write the manuals; edit them, mostly, to make sure no one finds a way in where they aren’t supposed to go. So the special sections of the Net browsers, where only officials and those with clearance can get in and access things, stay safe. Your dad’s got quite a reputation for plugging up holes in the programs, they say. They say nothing gets by him, not if it concerns keeping young ones out of the Wildnet and the Frontier sites.” Mr. Bruce’s face was neutral, and Alexander couldn’t tell how he felt about “keeping young ones out of the Wildnet,” but just then Bitsy and her mother returned with the same mugs, washed and refilled with coffee for the grownups and cocoa for Alexander and Bitsy. They sipped the hot drinks quietly for a while, and Alexander thought about how much this family seemed to enjoy the simple act of eating together, just being together. It reminded him a little of his own family, but the Wozniaks were a bit more careful to do things normally. The Bruces seemed to care only for each other’s opinions, at least here in their home.
When supper was truly done, and everything put away, Alexander and Bitsy went upstairs to get their studying done before going out on their strange errand with Kerry. Bitsy’s computer was a bit old, a G6 Jobs with a small screen, but the broadband signal was lively and strong, and even taking turns they had found and downloaded everything in less than an hour. Alexander looked at the clock- 7:15. By half past they would need to be at the bus stop for the ride downtown, and Alexander did not want to have this risky, volatile talk within the range of any sensors. With a gulp he blurted, “Bitsy, turn off your PEW---- please.” He removed his wrist remote, pulled his workstation out of his bag, and put it in shutdown sequence. Bitsy said, “What’s up?” Her face showed she was alarmed; their friendship was still fairly new, but Alexander’s expression was earnest, and his station was already blank, so she pushed her “Off” button and a moment later they were alone: no personal alarm, no “security monitoring” from downtown, no contact with POOP at all. It was unnerving, especially for two agents who had counted on their stations to get them out of jams in the field. They stared at each other, Alexander struggling to find a starting place.
“I’m not,” he began, “ going to try anything silly,” and her snort of laughter helped him get a grip. He was kneading his fingers nervously, one after the other, looking at his hands. “I really like your family, and I can see that they think the world of you……” Bitsy was still half wondering if this wasn’t a schoolboy pass, and she gave him no help, meeting his glances with a very level stare.
“Is your father, was he, ever…… a writer?” Bitsy’s guard was up, and she shrugged. “He’s a writer at work, as you know,” she said flatly.
“No, I mean… I mean is he a real writer, or was he, years ago? You know, grownup writing, fiction and poetry, that kind of stuff?”
Bitsy was getting stirred up. She answered, “ Why do you want to know? If you’re looking for trouble, we’ve had more than our share, Wozniak, so why don’t you just pack---“
“Bitsy, please, that’s not it,” Alexander pleaded, really miserable now, his hands really chafed and red from the nervous wringing and squeezing, which he couldn’t stop. “I would never cause trouble for you and your family, and I’m not up to anything stupid like Noyes and those Insec pukes…. I just got some information about a writer who was popular back before the Great Society, someone who was thought to be really good, who got shut down and sent to the frontier, and when he came back he got a straight job and settled down. It might not be your dad, but if it is, he may be in trouble. Again. People have been hoarding secret caches of his writing and circulating it on the Wildnet, and some of the Frontier sites are openly listing his work. Now some new material is showing up, and the Ministry of Decency thinks it resembles this man’s old work. They’re considering a full-out investigation,” Alexander’s voice reached the breaking point, and his hands hurt pretty bad but he couldn’t stop worrying them. “And if what I just told you gets out, I’m finished as an agent and as a Wozniak,’ he smiled in spite of himself.
He stopped, staring at Bitsy, knowing that she was trained not to trust him. Especially not him. And he was trained not to trust her. Especially not her. No one worked more closely with potential enemies than a POOP agent, by design. You picked your friends elsewhere, if you dared. She stared back, picking him apart with her eyes. Bitsy’s inner struggle was making her shiver like it was winter. She looked out the window at the settling dusk, then at the clock by the bed. “Time to go,” she said shortly, hitting the boot button on her workstation. “We’ll come back to this, maybe.” Alexander was in torment, but she was right--- they had to go catch the bus. And go meet Kerry and whoever was with him. And they had to watch each other’s back. Neither one could trust anyone else, and the question was, could they trust each other?
Virtuvid was the brain child of some genius in the Ministry of Health and Happiness. In a society where behavior was so strictly controlled, fantasy became the last refuge of free thought. And in a society where morality and decency were so narrowly defined, even fantasy had to be controlled, lest it produce “unacceptable” behaviors. The technology of computer simulation was nothing revolutionary; the manipulation of simulated content to reinforce Innovative Ideas without boring the consumers was the real challenge. Sex was off limits, of course, as well as violence and aggression. What remained to the software engineers at Health and Happiness and their outsource contractors was a bit pale, but it was safe, clean and not likely to stir anyone up to rebellion. Entering the simulated world, the consumer chose from a menu of virtual experiences ranging from being named head of a Ministry department to informing on rebellious neighbors. What with startlingly good visuals and sound, even the bland content made people feel….. sort of excited, in an obedient way.
The Teraflop Café was a respectable virtuvid salon, with rows of sim chairs bristling with sensors, and attendants bustling about helping consumers fit the gear over their orifices for the “experience.” Most of the noise was cancelled by special microphones, but there was still a murmuring din of suppressed voices and shifting in the chairs as consumers told off their bosses, thanked the applauding crowd for their adulation, and congratulated the board on their astute choice of chairpersons. Young people accepted various “best student,” “best athlete” and “most popular” awards. The experiences were affordable, and as entertainment it ranked about even with Society-sponsored movies featuring, for the most part, working stiffs who made good by following the rules.
Alexander and Bitsy entered on the dot of eight, backpacks slung high over their red windbreakers, a pair of POOP agents looking for some relaxation. Or maybe looking for someone to harass. The crowd glanced, then hastily looked away to avoid making eye contact. POOP agents were not relaxing company. Through a clear wall bisecting the room was the actual café, where consumers went to calm down after a sim experience, or wait for an available chair. Kerry was seated near the back. His sour expression got sourer as Alexander and Bitsy approached. He was shaking his head.
“Did I tell you to bring your girlfriend, Wozniak?” He sighed, for the dramatic effect. “And did I tell you to come in wearing your colors, so everyone can see me talking to an agent ? Huh?”
Bitsy was having none of it. “Kerry, we’re on our way back from studying, which I doubt you did any of tonight, and I’m not anyone’s girlfriend. And you know we have to identify ourselves if we’re carrying our equipment.”
Kerry shrugged, miming skeptical disapproval. “Ok, ok, just get lost for a few minutes while I talk to my man Alexander here, how ‘bout it? “
Bitsy shrugged and turned toward the bar, claiming a stool for her bag and one for herself, affecting to ignore the boys while she ordered a shake.
Kerry was sipping a drink, but he didn’t offer to order Alexander anything. He seemed a bit rushed to get this done. “Now I know,” he began, holding up his hands and pursing his lips for the innocent effect, “we ain’t exactly been friends at school, Wozniak. In fact there’s been times you really got under my skin, sticking by the rules and issuing warnings in the hall and all.” Kerry tilted his head one way, then the other. “But that’s just the small stuff, and I’m willing, for one, to forget all about it. I been thinking, just lately, of becoming a ministry intern myself, due to some nice offers bein’ made by associates of my father. He, if you didn’t happen to know, runs a piece of the Ministry of Scenic Beauty, and me and my buddies help out sometimes in the parks and sanctuaries, picking up litter and stuff like that. It’s great to be out in the pretty country, away from all the hustle and blow, no monitors, no sensors, just good times with good friends. You interested in that at all, Woz--- Alexander?” Kerry paused for effect. Alexander was spellbound by the pitch. Alone with Kerry and his goonish friends in a Ministry park; it sounded like a great place to get ganged up on. But Alexander did his own head tilt and answered, “ Who wouldn’t like a little peace and quiet, I suppose? And you can never have too many friends.” It was about as chummy as Alexander knew how to be, especially facing someone who had more than once promised him a facelift in one go. Kerry flashed a very sincere phony grin and slapped the table. “Good! Good. That settles it. This Saturday we’re going up to Exemplary Acres, and you’re invited. My house is near the last bus stop on the Invidio line at 10 and we’ll have you back tor dinner. You can meet my folks and Dad will drive us up to the park. And Wozniak,” Kerry put on a wary face and hammed it up, “ Remember you’re off duty, ok? No need for your big bag and all that official snoop gear. Let’s just have a good time. And maybe we can keep a lid on this friction thing we always seem to get into at school. I know you got to do your job, W—Alexander, but the rest of us got to live, too. Maybe a little less nitpicking on me and my friends would be a nice gesture, if that ain’t too much to ask, especially since you are sort of in my circle anyways, after our little chat here. Whattya say?” and Kerry held out that paw that had to often appeared in Alexander’s dreams as a fist, and Alexander couldn’t think of anything to do but shake it, and that was it. Kerry stood up, ready to leave, and noticed Bitsy again, sitting at the bar, guarding her bag and sipping a tofrappe special and pretending not to notice the boys at all. “So, Bruce…. What’s yer name… Betty?”
“Bitsy,” Alexander prompted, seeing Bitsy’s shoulders tense, fearing another outburst.
“Betsy, right, “ Kerry grinned, moving past her on his way out. “You’re pretty smart at school, they tell me,” he turned to her, still moving toward the door, and said, “But I think you should loosen up a little, like Alexander here,” and he was through the door and gone, leaving Bitsy fuming and Alexander dumfounded. “Let’s get to the bus stop,” she said, and hefted her bag. Out on the street, Bitsy sputtered, “What was that all about, and what did you shake his hand for? He’s up to something, and as dumb as he is, I can’t work it out.” She glared at Alexander, waiting for his response. He couldn’t think of what to say. Kerry was surely up to something, but this meeting had not revealed the scheme as Alexander had hoped. Instead he had found himself agreeing to hang with Kerry and his mob at Exemplary Acres on a weekend, away from sensors, Geek teams and the protection all agents relied on in the field. And he had tacitly agreed to consider tolerating Kerry’s in-school antics, and shaken on it. But where all this was coming from, Alexander hadn’t a clue.
Alexander looked at Bitsy, by now straddling her bag at the bus stop and eyeing him curiously, and said, “ Maybe I just got flimm-flammed, Bitsy, but Kerry didn’t want anything much, and he didn’t say anything suspicious. He just wants me to go to Exemplary Acres with him and his friends sometime, and he asked if I would go easy on him at school, and that was all.” He shrugged, shaking his head. “That was all?” bitsy asked, skeptical. “Yes, that was it,” Alexander shrugged again. “I have no idea what Kerry’s up to.”
“You’re planning to play along, aren’t you?” Bitsy asked, sounding too much like Mrs. Wozniak at that moment. “You know the big bully doesn’t like you, because he doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t idolize him and laugh at his dumb jokes, but you’re going to pretend to be his friend, and try to spot the trap before it closes.” Her bright blue eyes bored holes in Alexander as she waited for his response. He felt a little cornered, not for the first time today, so he just stared back, finally admitting, just to stop the staring, “ Yeah, I guess that’s my plan.”
Bitsy snorted and picked up her bag as the bus arrived. “Just don’t pretend you know what you’re doing, ok? And when it gets all smelly, just remember you got me into this, and friends,” she concluded with mock seriousness, “ stick together, even when one of them is crazy.” Alexander grinned and boarded the bus behind her, savoring that word--- “friends.”
Next day at school was uneventful. Kerry actually winked at Alexander passing in the hall, but otherwise made no sign that he had changed his stance on “rat agents,” as they were sometimes called. Bitsy smiled when he passed the door of her home room, but there was no time to talk. And Noyes was missing ; painfully so, since Alexander knew where he was , or at least what he was doing. He was getting his hair cut short, which would make him look even smaller and skinnier, and he was being issued a blanket and a plate and mug, and made to walk naked through a disinfecting chamber. Citizens of the Progressive Society, even disgraced ones, had to be free from germs.
“Rob, “Bitsy broke in, stepping in front of Alexander and holding out her hand, “This is my friend Alexander from school. Come on down and meet him.” The big man hesitantly descended, taking Alexander’s hand in a massive paw with a strangely gently grip. Then it came to Alexander. This was the shirtless giant who had broken up the parade and gotten Wilf all worked up enough to….. Lose control, sort of. But all Alexander said was, “pleased to meet you, Rob,” returning that steady gaze until Rob relaxed a little and said shyly, “Friends of my sister are souls well met,” and he turned to go back upstairs. Bitsy grabbed his hand and kissed it, getting a slow smile for her pains, and then he was gone. Bitsy showed Alexander the telephone, and he was sure his mother was smiling as she approved his evening “studying” with Bitsy.
“Bretaine, Bretaine, is that you, dearie?” The singing had stopped, but not the water and the voice from the kitchen appeared as a small woman with short cloud-gray hair and pink cheeks, drying her hands on a cloth and smiling as she caught sight of her daughter. She kissed the crown of Bitsy’s head, extended a small, rough hand to Alexander with a wink, and drew them both back into her realm. The sink was running water over a large pot turned bottom up. It was mostly covered with runny black stuff. It looked like Mrs. Bruce had been scrubbing away at it. Her face was flushed and moist, and her hands were warm from the water, and almost as red as her cheeks. She exchanged knowing looks with her daughter, and for Alexander’s benefit she added, with obvious good cheer, “ Himself will have been preparin’ his famous barley pottage, and who’s to pay the piper but me, now. And where have you two reeves been this day? Is all peaceful at school and on the street?” Her shrewd eyes took them in at a glance, and she sat the two youngsters down at her tiny table in the corner and produced crockery mugs of cold milk and a plate of shortbread squares. She went back to her scrubbing and listened while they told the story of Noyes’ folly and his arrest at the meeting. When they had finished she tut-tutted and shook her head, bending over her pot and muttering clearly enough to be heard, “and another clan is without its dearest, thanks to them devils, and for what?” Then she remembered that Alexander was also an agent of “them devils,” and she excused herself, turning to brush a strand of hair from her face, using the one holding the brush, then gesticulating with her soapy scepter until suds were everywhere, “ I’m never the one to stand in anyone’s road, mind you, now, if the journey is worthwhile………” she paused as she returned the brush to the sink and dried her hands again, “ but I can’t be having with sending young’uns away, not for any reason, and I’ll tell that to anybody. Sending the likes of you out to remind those who’ve forgotten their manners, once the schoolin’s over, that’s one thing. But when day is done, families are meant to gather, is all I’ll be sayin’. ” Alexander smiled at Bitsy to let her know he wasn’t taking offense, and Mrs. Bruce went back to drying the big pot and hanging it on the wall with the others, all similarly scoured and scrubbed, not a matching pair among them.
The front door opened, and the sound of singing came to them, a man’s deep, rough voice: “an’ would I give ye o’er, would I sell my heart for aye….” And Mrs. Bruce, smiling at the two children, gave the refrain in her own clear soprano, “ nae linen, lamb nae lands wou’ do,” and they finished together, facing each other across the kitchen, “ to live nae more wi’ you….” Bitsy may have been a bit embarrassed, but she was smiling, and Mr. and Mrs. Bruce were unabashed. After a moment Mr. Bruce noticed Alexander and offered his hand. It was almost as big as his son’s, and every bit as gentle. Bitsy spoke up, “Dad, this is my friend Alexander Wozniak.” Mr. Bruce held Alexander’s eyes, finally saying, with a twinkle, “If our Bretaine brought you, you can stay.”
Supper at the Bruce home reminded Alexander of his own family dinners. Bitsy kept shooting glances at him, wondering if her family was strange or “unsound” to Alexander’s trained eye. He could only give her small smiles, hoping she could see that he was not inclined to find fault at all. Rob came downstairs without being called, and his dad touched his shoulder, and Rob answered, “keeping well, dad?” and he helped his mother set out the table: heavy plates with a rough brown finish ,the same plain mugs that had been used for snack , and real silver utensils, soft and bent from use, polished to a soft shine. Mr. Bruce’s special pottage was placed in honor at the center of the table, and brown bread appeared from the big old oven where it had been keeping warm. They joined hands before they ate, and Alexander was confused and fascinated to be holding Bitsy’s tiny hand in his left, and Rob’s huge hand in his right. Both Bruces, both kind and gentle, each stirring different feelings in him as they bowed for Dad’s grace. “Our Maker, all we have is Yours, and ourselves we freely give, amen.
They tucked into the steaming stew, rich and lumpy with some kind of meat, and Alexander noted that Rob and his dad dragged their bread through the hot mixture, while Bitsy and her mother alternated bites, but no one gave anyone a lecture. Alexander found himself digging into his bowl of barley, even though he couldn’t taste it very well through his DOOK. There were crunchy bits and the meat was tender; the whole thing just felt good in his mouth. And the bread was crusty and coarse and gave up a sweetness that made you want to chew it. Certainly it was a big change from his mother’s daily fare, and from Mr. Wozniak’s spicy weekend dishes.
“So Bretaine’s been telling us that you’re a smart one,” Mr. Bruce said. “Says you been skippin’ grades and all, and now you two are the youngest ones in your classes.” He smiled through his trim black beard, “and likely the smallest, too, I’ll guess. Takes a bit of sand in your gut to make a way in this Great Society, that’s certain enough.”
Alexander didn’t know how to reply, but he nodded and said, “yes sir. But Bitsy’s the smartest one in school. No one else’s skipped two grades.” Bitsy’s head was tucked into her bowl, so Alexander couldn’t tell if she was blushing.
“Is she, now?” Mr. Bruce acted surprised, but his eyes were twinkling and Alexander started to understand that he enjoyed teasing his children, especially in company. “And here was me thinkin’ those were just bricks in that bag, for drivin’ boys away!” Rob laughed in appreciation, a deep rumble, pleasant to Alexander’s ear. “Dad!” Bitsy complained, “Stop. Please.” Her face had turned the prettiest shade of pink, and she resembled her mother even more. Mrs. Bruce was giggling into her napkin, but she spoke up, “Now, Robert, we have a guest, and our Bretaine knows she’s smart, and pretty besides, don’t you, dearie?” This only made Bitsy blush more deeply, and she held her napkin over her face, but her ears shone bright red under her blonde curls. Suddenly Mr. Bruce, Rob and Bitsy’s mother were laughing out loud, and Mr. Bruce almost choked on his bread, and Rob went to slap him on the back but Mr. Bruce held up a hand, still laughing, and said, “There she goes again, hidin’ from her adorin’ public, and all of us just hopin’ for a smile.” Bitsy waited for quiet, then dropped her napkin back in her lap and fiercely attacked her barley. But her ears stayed pink for quite a while, and she was grinning, too.
When they had all eaten enough pottage and bread, Bitsy and her mother cleared the plates, leaving Alexander at the table with Rob and Mr. Bruce. “Alexander Wozniak, is it?” Mr. Bruce asked, taking a toothpick from a bowl on the table. “yes sir.” ‘is your dad the same Wozniak who runs my department at Progressive Programs?”
“yes sir, he’s an engineer for them.”
“Smart man, that,” said Mr. Bruce, nodding. “And fair. Don’t know him, actually, he’s over the lot of us in Security Interfaces. I’m just a writer, actually. But he’s got a good name. Not an easy thing to keep in these times.”
Alexander was a little embarrassed, not least because his dad had never told him anything about his work, more than a shrug and a “well, never mind.” He said, “ yes, sir. And what do all of you do in that department? “ and , in response to Mr. Bruce’s unspoken question he added, “ Dad doesn’t talk much about work, really.”
Never taking his eyes off Alexander, Mr. Bruce used his napkin, tossed it on the table, and said, “ Doesn’t he, now? Can’t say as I blame him. And, it’s not for me to tell tales, if that’s his way, but…. It’s no secret, really, We’re tasked with keeping folks out of places in the software that are restricted to all but a few. I write the manuals; edit them, mostly, to make sure no one finds a way in where they aren’t supposed to go. So the special sections of the Net browsers, where only officials and those with clearance can get in and access things, stay safe. Your dad’s got quite a reputation for plugging up holes in the programs, they say. They say nothing gets by him, not if it concerns keeping young ones out of the Wildnet and the Frontier sites.” Mr. Bruce’s face was neutral, and Alexander couldn’t tell how he felt about “keeping young ones out of the Wildnet,” but just then Bitsy and her mother returned with the same mugs, washed and refilled with coffee for the grownups and cocoa for Alexander and Bitsy. They sipped the hot drinks quietly for a while, and Alexander thought about how much this family seemed to enjoy the simple act of eating together, just being together. It reminded him a little of his own family, but the Wozniaks were a bit more careful to do things normally. The Bruces seemed to care only for each other’s opinions, at least here in their home.
When supper was truly done, and everything put away, Alexander and Bitsy went upstairs to get their studying done before going out on their strange errand with Kerry. Bitsy’s computer was a bit old, a G6 Jobs with a small screen, but the broadband signal was lively and strong, and even taking turns they had found and downloaded everything in less than an hour. Alexander looked at the clock- 7:15. By half past they would need to be at the bus stop for the ride downtown, and Alexander did not want to have this risky, volatile talk within the range of any sensors. With a gulp he blurted, “Bitsy, turn off your PEW---- please.” He removed his wrist remote, pulled his workstation out of his bag, and put it in shutdown sequence. Bitsy said, “What’s up?” Her face showed she was alarmed; their friendship was still fairly new, but Alexander’s expression was earnest, and his station was already blank, so she pushed her “Off” button and a moment later they were alone: no personal alarm, no “security monitoring” from downtown, no contact with POOP at all. It was unnerving, especially for two agents who had counted on their stations to get them out of jams in the field. They stared at each other, Alexander struggling to find a starting place.
“I’m not,” he began, “ going to try anything silly,” and her snort of laughter helped him get a grip. He was kneading his fingers nervously, one after the other, looking at his hands. “I really like your family, and I can see that they think the world of you……” Bitsy was still half wondering if this wasn’t a schoolboy pass, and she gave him no help, meeting his glances with a very level stare.
“Is your father, was he, ever…… a writer?” Bitsy’s guard was up, and she shrugged. “He’s a writer at work, as you know,” she said flatly.
“No, I mean… I mean is he a real writer, or was he, years ago? You know, grownup writing, fiction and poetry, that kind of stuff?”
Bitsy was getting stirred up. She answered, “ Why do you want to know? If you’re looking for trouble, we’ve had more than our share, Wozniak, so why don’t you just pack---“
“Bitsy, please, that’s not it,” Alexander pleaded, really miserable now, his hands really chafed and red from the nervous wringing and squeezing, which he couldn’t stop. “I would never cause trouble for you and your family, and I’m not up to anything stupid like Noyes and those Insec pukes…. I just got some information about a writer who was popular back before the Great Society, someone who was thought to be really good, who got shut down and sent to the frontier, and when he came back he got a straight job and settled down. It might not be your dad, but if it is, he may be in trouble. Again. People have been hoarding secret caches of his writing and circulating it on the Wildnet, and some of the Frontier sites are openly listing his work. Now some new material is showing up, and the Ministry of Decency thinks it resembles this man’s old work. They’re considering a full-out investigation,” Alexander’s voice reached the breaking point, and his hands hurt pretty bad but he couldn’t stop worrying them. “And if what I just told you gets out, I’m finished as an agent and as a Wozniak,’ he smiled in spite of himself.
He stopped, staring at Bitsy, knowing that she was trained not to trust him. Especially not him. And he was trained not to trust her. Especially not her. No one worked more closely with potential enemies than a POOP agent, by design. You picked your friends elsewhere, if you dared. She stared back, picking him apart with her eyes. Bitsy’s inner struggle was making her shiver like it was winter. She looked out the window at the settling dusk, then at the clock by the bed. “Time to go,” she said shortly, hitting the boot button on her workstation. “We’ll come back to this, maybe.” Alexander was in torment, but she was right--- they had to go catch the bus. And go meet Kerry and whoever was with him. And they had to watch each other’s back. Neither one could trust anyone else, and the question was, could they trust each other?
Virtuvid was the brain child of some genius in the Ministry of Health and Happiness. In a society where behavior was so strictly controlled, fantasy became the last refuge of free thought. And in a society where morality and decency were so narrowly defined, even fantasy had to be controlled, lest it produce “unacceptable” behaviors. The technology of computer simulation was nothing revolutionary; the manipulation of simulated content to reinforce Innovative Ideas without boring the consumers was the real challenge. Sex was off limits, of course, as well as violence and aggression. What remained to the software engineers at Health and Happiness and their outsource contractors was a bit pale, but it was safe, clean and not likely to stir anyone up to rebellion. Entering the simulated world, the consumer chose from a menu of virtual experiences ranging from being named head of a Ministry department to informing on rebellious neighbors. What with startlingly good visuals and sound, even the bland content made people feel….. sort of excited, in an obedient way.
The Teraflop Café was a respectable virtuvid salon, with rows of sim chairs bristling with sensors, and attendants bustling about helping consumers fit the gear over their orifices for the “experience.” Most of the noise was cancelled by special microphones, but there was still a murmuring din of suppressed voices and shifting in the chairs as consumers told off their bosses, thanked the applauding crowd for their adulation, and congratulated the board on their astute choice of chairpersons. Young people accepted various “best student,” “best athlete” and “most popular” awards. The experiences were affordable, and as entertainment it ranked about even with Society-sponsored movies featuring, for the most part, working stiffs who made good by following the rules.
Alexander and Bitsy entered on the dot of eight, backpacks slung high over their red windbreakers, a pair of POOP agents looking for some relaxation. Or maybe looking for someone to harass. The crowd glanced, then hastily looked away to avoid making eye contact. POOP agents were not relaxing company. Through a clear wall bisecting the room was the actual café, where consumers went to calm down after a sim experience, or wait for an available chair. Kerry was seated near the back. His sour expression got sourer as Alexander and Bitsy approached. He was shaking his head.
“Did I tell you to bring your girlfriend, Wozniak?” He sighed, for the dramatic effect. “And did I tell you to come in wearing your colors, so everyone can see me talking to an agent ? Huh?”
Bitsy was having none of it. “Kerry, we’re on our way back from studying, which I doubt you did any of tonight, and I’m not anyone’s girlfriend. And you know we have to identify ourselves if we’re carrying our equipment.”
Kerry shrugged, miming skeptical disapproval. “Ok, ok, just get lost for a few minutes while I talk to my man Alexander here, how ‘bout it? “
Bitsy shrugged and turned toward the bar, claiming a stool for her bag and one for herself, affecting to ignore the boys while she ordered a shake.
Kerry was sipping a drink, but he didn’t offer to order Alexander anything. He seemed a bit rushed to get this done. “Now I know,” he began, holding up his hands and pursing his lips for the innocent effect, “we ain’t exactly been friends at school, Wozniak. In fact there’s been times you really got under my skin, sticking by the rules and issuing warnings in the hall and all.” Kerry tilted his head one way, then the other. “But that’s just the small stuff, and I’m willing, for one, to forget all about it. I been thinking, just lately, of becoming a ministry intern myself, due to some nice offers bein’ made by associates of my father. He, if you didn’t happen to know, runs a piece of the Ministry of Scenic Beauty, and me and my buddies help out sometimes in the parks and sanctuaries, picking up litter and stuff like that. It’s great to be out in the pretty country, away from all the hustle and blow, no monitors, no sensors, just good times with good friends. You interested in that at all, Woz--- Alexander?” Kerry paused for effect. Alexander was spellbound by the pitch. Alone with Kerry and his goonish friends in a Ministry park; it sounded like a great place to get ganged up on. But Alexander did his own head tilt and answered, “ Who wouldn’t like a little peace and quiet, I suppose? And you can never have too many friends.” It was about as chummy as Alexander knew how to be, especially facing someone who had more than once promised him a facelift in one go. Kerry flashed a very sincere phony grin and slapped the table. “Good! Good. That settles it. This Saturday we’re going up to Exemplary Acres, and you’re invited. My house is near the last bus stop on the Invidio line at 10 and we’ll have you back tor dinner. You can meet my folks and Dad will drive us up to the park. And Wozniak,” Kerry put on a wary face and hammed it up, “ Remember you’re off duty, ok? No need for your big bag and all that official snoop gear. Let’s just have a good time. And maybe we can keep a lid on this friction thing we always seem to get into at school. I know you got to do your job, W—Alexander, but the rest of us got to live, too. Maybe a little less nitpicking on me and my friends would be a nice gesture, if that ain’t too much to ask, especially since you are sort of in my circle anyways, after our little chat here. Whattya say?” and Kerry held out that paw that had to often appeared in Alexander’s dreams as a fist, and Alexander couldn’t think of anything to do but shake it, and that was it. Kerry stood up, ready to leave, and noticed Bitsy again, sitting at the bar, guarding her bag and sipping a tofrappe special and pretending not to notice the boys at all. “So, Bruce…. What’s yer name… Betty?”
“Bitsy,” Alexander prompted, seeing Bitsy’s shoulders tense, fearing another outburst.
“Betsy, right, “ Kerry grinned, moving past her on his way out. “You’re pretty smart at school, they tell me,” he turned to her, still moving toward the door, and said, “But I think you should loosen up a little, like Alexander here,” and he was through the door and gone, leaving Bitsy fuming and Alexander dumfounded. “Let’s get to the bus stop,” she said, and hefted her bag. Out on the street, Bitsy sputtered, “What was that all about, and what did you shake his hand for? He’s up to something, and as dumb as he is, I can’t work it out.” She glared at Alexander, waiting for his response. He couldn’t think of what to say. Kerry was surely up to something, but this meeting had not revealed the scheme as Alexander had hoped. Instead he had found himself agreeing to hang with Kerry and his mob at Exemplary Acres on a weekend, away from sensors, Geek teams and the protection all agents relied on in the field. And he had tacitly agreed to consider tolerating Kerry’s in-school antics, and shaken on it. But where all this was coming from, Alexander hadn’t a clue.
Alexander looked at Bitsy, by now straddling her bag at the bus stop and eyeing him curiously, and said, “ Maybe I just got flimm-flammed, Bitsy, but Kerry didn’t want anything much, and he didn’t say anything suspicious. He just wants me to go to Exemplary Acres with him and his friends sometime, and he asked if I would go easy on him at school, and that was all.” He shrugged, shaking his head. “That was all?” bitsy asked, skeptical. “Yes, that was it,” Alexander shrugged again. “I have no idea what Kerry’s up to.”
“You’re planning to play along, aren’t you?” Bitsy asked, sounding too much like Mrs. Wozniak at that moment. “You know the big bully doesn’t like you, because he doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t idolize him and laugh at his dumb jokes, but you’re going to pretend to be his friend, and try to spot the trap before it closes.” Her bright blue eyes bored holes in Alexander as she waited for his response. He felt a little cornered, not for the first time today, so he just stared back, finally admitting, just to stop the staring, “ Yeah, I guess that’s my plan.”
Bitsy snorted and picked up her bag as the bus arrived. “Just don’t pretend you know what you’re doing, ok? And when it gets all smelly, just remember you got me into this, and friends,” she concluded with mock seriousness, “ stick together, even when one of them is crazy.” Alexander grinned and boarded the bus behind her, savoring that word--- “friends.”
Next day at school was uneventful. Kerry actually winked at Alexander passing in the hall, but otherwise made no sign that he had changed his stance on “rat agents,” as they were sometimes called. Bitsy smiled when he passed the door of her home room, but there was no time to talk. And Noyes was missing ; painfully so, since Alexander knew where he was , or at least what he was doing. He was getting his hair cut short, which would make him look even smaller and skinnier, and he was being issued a blanket and a plate and mug, and made to walk naked through a disinfecting chamber. Citizens of the Progressive Society, even disgraced ones, had to be free from germs.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Mental Explosion
Tossing my skeleton out of the closet,
the air rushing out is a brisk and cold wind,
removing the stench of dead flesh and old boxes, and revealing a part of
the picture previously hidden from me.
The closet looks as if something is missing,
I am jolted by the sight of my skeleton gone.
Hooks and buttons I had used to secure it fell off.
They clutter the floor at my feet.
The skeleton leaves a good portion of floor space, and the room puzzles me at first;
for moss had begun to grow on my skeleton, and had begun to
grow on all of its' parts. The bones had been hanging out loudly;testy to come out and roam;
light has entered the space and given the green light to clean and remove
the rotted garments that skeleton had worn.
New garments hang in my old closet, and beckon me with, "Come and try us on now. We have waited for you to clean out the old garments, and the bones that have darkened the room for so long. Burst the old wineskins and put on the new duds; for the Father had given His blessing to you; to restore all of what has been eaten by locusts
and give a new image for the closet to view."
the air rushing out is a brisk and cold wind,
removing the stench of dead flesh and old boxes, and revealing a part of
the picture previously hidden from me.
The closet looks as if something is missing,
I am jolted by the sight of my skeleton gone.
Hooks and buttons I had used to secure it fell off.
They clutter the floor at my feet.
The skeleton leaves a good portion of floor space, and the room puzzles me at first;
for moss had begun to grow on my skeleton, and had begun to
grow on all of its' parts. The bones had been hanging out loudly;testy to come out and roam;
light has entered the space and given the green light to clean and remove
the rotted garments that skeleton had worn.
New garments hang in my old closet, and beckon me with, "Come and try us on now. We have waited for you to clean out the old garments, and the bones that have darkened the room for so long. Burst the old wineskins and put on the new duds; for the Father had given His blessing to you; to restore all of what has been eaten by locusts
and give a new image for the closet to view."
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Dig
Here's some lyrics I wrote...
Dig
I dug below the frostline but I couldn't find the clues
and I dug for buried treasure just so I could pay my dues
now I'm digging through this catalogue for something I can use
but I still
can't bury the pain
I've been digging in the garbage, I've been digging in the dust
I brushed away the broken glass and dusted off the rust
I've been digging like I cared and I'm digging 'cause I must
but I still
can't bury the pain
Artifacts
Tombs
Fossils
Bones
Links
in the chain
and the pain
I once dug a foundation where I thought I'd like to stay
then I had to dig a tunnel just so I could get away
now I'm living in this trench so I can fight another day
and I still
can't bury the pain
Artifacts
Tombs
Fossils
Bones
Links
in the chain...
Dig
I dug below the frostline but I couldn't find the clues
and I dug for buried treasure just so I could pay my dues
now I'm digging through this catalogue for something I can use
but I still
can't bury the pain
I've been digging in the garbage, I've been digging in the dust
I brushed away the broken glass and dusted off the rust
I've been digging like I cared and I'm digging 'cause I must
but I still
can't bury the pain
Artifacts
Tombs
Fossils
Bones
Links
in the chain
and the pain
I once dug a foundation where I thought I'd like to stay
then I had to dig a tunnel just so I could get away
now I'm living in this trench so I can fight another day
and I still
can't bury the pain
Artifacts
Tombs
Fossils
Bones
Links
in the chain...
Friday, May 11, 2007
Ella's Rising
She could not remember ever being any different than she was right now. Maybe that was the way it was, but maybe not. All she knew ws that she wasn't in great shape right now. She hesitated to speak or write, fearful that something she wanted to conceal would come spilling forth and betray her. The sun shone, and every corner of the environment seemed to be illuminated with bright light. In a way, the sunshine was an affront to her psyche; like salt in an open wound.
The gentle melancholy covered her now like a soft cloak, but threatened to grow heavy and make even breathing difficult. It was familiar, though not comforting. The present melancholy was bearable, and she was, to a point, comfortable with it in the sense that she could function with its presence. The heavier cloak seemed to tear into her spirit like claws; tearing her into fragments of her former self.
Memories of the years gone past flooded her mind again. The scenes of classroom tears where she would melt and be gripped by fear that kept her frozen in the chair. The desk and the chair would be wet, and yet she could not bear to move on her own. Inevitably, the bewildered teacher would either call the guidance counselor or bring her down to the counselor's office themselves. Whispers of ridicule swarmed around and inside her head to terrorize her. Classmates were often dismissive and figured that she was trying to get out of doing any work. A shield went up around her and she tried to hide within herself from the criticisms. There was nowhere else to go. Where could she be alone and just purge the sadness from her spirit? If she knew, she would certainly try to avoid making such a spectacle of herself.
Writing provided an outlet for her discomfort, but it came at a price. She had not been in a good frame of mind when she wrote the notes, and the impact they had was not good, either. She wrote a few that were red-flags for self-injury, and was called up on the carpet for them. In a way, she could understand what the problem was. However, there were those moments that she didn't know what else to do to send up the necessary smoke signals to yell out to someone that she was not going to be able to weather the tempests much longer. Her parents didn't seem to really understand that she was really lost. Their shouts of concern and the anger she felt from that concern were discouraging.
Writing was the only way she let out some of the pressure she felt inside. It also caused some problems when she wrote the contents of her soul.
These scenes had been happening in some form or another for years. When she was single, she was able to get away by herself more often and just let the inner poison drain out of her. She could hardly stand when she had been weeping for an extended time, but then there was an eerie peace that surrounded her afterwards. In a way, she had become addicted to that surreal calmness of spirit.
Married now, the days formed themselves around her husband and two children. They had needs, too. Dinners needed to be cooked, laundry needed to be done, and bills needed to be paid. The household had to be organized to promote some semblance of sanity for the family as a whole, and that in itself was enough to keep her busy. She liked her life on one level. The level that was normal and that encircled her in a realm of family and love was a work of art in progress.
The level she tried to keep hidden was the zone that was giving her grief now. She had managed to bring the kids to her mom's house for the afternoon. It was summertime, and the kids were out of school. Both grandparents and children were happy to spend some time together anyway. It worked out for her to be able to try and heal up from the latest assault.
She loved the beach when she could find some shade. It was even better if she could find a park that had a beach connected to it so that both green grass and ocean were offered. Today she had found that alcove of respite that would enable her to drain the familiar poison off so that she could try to get rid of it.
Ella had purposed in her heart to not take her own life. She wanted to live and she was going to live, and that was that. She would not give her enemy the satisfaction of taking her down for good. The tenacity that had brought her to the edge of 40 was going to have to keep working for her. It was a gift she needed intimately.
There were those times that she didn't think that she was going to make it out of another abyss. These were the times that she wrote those notes to her classmate.
These were the times that she just melted into a shell and displaced her humanity in the name of relief. It was one of these times that she found the straight pin and made a start of what could have been the beginning of the end. It never went any further in the natural, though it continued in the mental realm.
She pulled herself back to the present day and saw the trees swaying their leaves back and forth in the light wind around them both. Ella felt kissed by heaven when she felt the wind on her face, and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to her God. He had promised never to leave her or forsake her. She took that on faith, as she could not feel that presence as she sat in her inner darkness. Right now, she just wanted to fade into oblivion. She was guilt-ridden for even thinking such foolishness, and felt also that her weakness was embarassing. She wanted to hide this from people, to keep them from knowing that she was not in her right mind. They had nothing to fear from her, as she did not hold anyone else responsible for the present or past unpleasantness. Still, there was nowhere else to go, and she felt penned in like a caged animal by the demands of her life.
Ella would be able to shift gears soon so that she could go back to her car and head toward her parents' house to pick up the kids. The real world was waiting for her, and it was a welcome change. She told herself that this inner world was not real, and that was a part of what kept her going. The real world was what was happening around her; with her family, her church, and the rest of the world as she understood it. It didn't actually make a lot of sense sometimes because it was real when the inside hurts and hauntings spilled out into becoming real. She wanted to hide. Where could she hide? There seemed to be people everywhere, and there was nowhere else to go.
She heard a car horn in the distance. She looked at her watch and saw it was already 4:30 in the afternoon. She would live another day, and continue to heal up from the cloak and its' claws. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" she thought. The verses would come to her now and whisper words of peace and hope. They were real; as real as anything that ever existed. Ella arose and headed towards the parking lot. She missed her kids, her husband, and those little chocolate truffles in the drug store that came in a black wrapper. God would be faithful, and she would rise again.
The gentle melancholy covered her now like a soft cloak, but threatened to grow heavy and make even breathing difficult. It was familiar, though not comforting. The present melancholy was bearable, and she was, to a point, comfortable with it in the sense that she could function with its presence. The heavier cloak seemed to tear into her spirit like claws; tearing her into fragments of her former self.
Memories of the years gone past flooded her mind again. The scenes of classroom tears where she would melt and be gripped by fear that kept her frozen in the chair. The desk and the chair would be wet, and yet she could not bear to move on her own. Inevitably, the bewildered teacher would either call the guidance counselor or bring her down to the counselor's office themselves. Whispers of ridicule swarmed around and inside her head to terrorize her. Classmates were often dismissive and figured that she was trying to get out of doing any work. A shield went up around her and she tried to hide within herself from the criticisms. There was nowhere else to go. Where could she be alone and just purge the sadness from her spirit? If she knew, she would certainly try to avoid making such a spectacle of herself.
Writing provided an outlet for her discomfort, but it came at a price. She had not been in a good frame of mind when she wrote the notes, and the impact they had was not good, either. She wrote a few that were red-flags for self-injury, and was called up on the carpet for them. In a way, she could understand what the problem was. However, there were those moments that she didn't know what else to do to send up the necessary smoke signals to yell out to someone that she was not going to be able to weather the tempests much longer. Her parents didn't seem to really understand that she was really lost. Their shouts of concern and the anger she felt from that concern were discouraging.
Writing was the only way she let out some of the pressure she felt inside. It also caused some problems when she wrote the contents of her soul.
These scenes had been happening in some form or another for years. When she was single, she was able to get away by herself more often and just let the inner poison drain out of her. She could hardly stand when she had been weeping for an extended time, but then there was an eerie peace that surrounded her afterwards. In a way, she had become addicted to that surreal calmness of spirit.
Married now, the days formed themselves around her husband and two children. They had needs, too. Dinners needed to be cooked, laundry needed to be done, and bills needed to be paid. The household had to be organized to promote some semblance of sanity for the family as a whole, and that in itself was enough to keep her busy. She liked her life on one level. The level that was normal and that encircled her in a realm of family and love was a work of art in progress.
The level she tried to keep hidden was the zone that was giving her grief now. She had managed to bring the kids to her mom's house for the afternoon. It was summertime, and the kids were out of school. Both grandparents and children were happy to spend some time together anyway. It worked out for her to be able to try and heal up from the latest assault.
She loved the beach when she could find some shade. It was even better if she could find a park that had a beach connected to it so that both green grass and ocean were offered. Today she had found that alcove of respite that would enable her to drain the familiar poison off so that she could try to get rid of it.
Ella had purposed in her heart to not take her own life. She wanted to live and she was going to live, and that was that. She would not give her enemy the satisfaction of taking her down for good. The tenacity that had brought her to the edge of 40 was going to have to keep working for her. It was a gift she needed intimately.
There were those times that she didn't think that she was going to make it out of another abyss. These were the times that she wrote those notes to her classmate.
These were the times that she just melted into a shell and displaced her humanity in the name of relief. It was one of these times that she found the straight pin and made a start of what could have been the beginning of the end. It never went any further in the natural, though it continued in the mental realm.
She pulled herself back to the present day and saw the trees swaying their leaves back and forth in the light wind around them both. Ella felt kissed by heaven when she felt the wind on her face, and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to her God. He had promised never to leave her or forsake her. She took that on faith, as she could not feel that presence as she sat in her inner darkness. Right now, she just wanted to fade into oblivion. She was guilt-ridden for even thinking such foolishness, and felt also that her weakness was embarassing. She wanted to hide this from people, to keep them from knowing that she was not in her right mind. They had nothing to fear from her, as she did not hold anyone else responsible for the present or past unpleasantness. Still, there was nowhere else to go, and she felt penned in like a caged animal by the demands of her life.
Ella would be able to shift gears soon so that she could go back to her car and head toward her parents' house to pick up the kids. The real world was waiting for her, and it was a welcome change. She told herself that this inner world was not real, and that was a part of what kept her going. The real world was what was happening around her; with her family, her church, and the rest of the world as she understood it. It didn't actually make a lot of sense sometimes because it was real when the inside hurts and hauntings spilled out into becoming real. She wanted to hide. Where could she hide? There seemed to be people everywhere, and there was nowhere else to go.
She heard a car horn in the distance. She looked at her watch and saw it was already 4:30 in the afternoon. She would live another day, and continue to heal up from the cloak and its' claws. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" she thought. The verses would come to her now and whisper words of peace and hope. They were real; as real as anything that ever existed. Ella arose and headed towards the parking lot. She missed her kids, her husband, and those little chocolate truffles in the drug store that came in a black wrapper. God would be faithful, and she would rise again.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Prayer Request
Becka hung up the phone, her mouth still spread in an oval of shock. This was big. Really big. Leslie Barker’s son was gay. According to Stephanie, Leslie had tearfully shared the earth-shattering news with the ladies prayer group at her new church just yesterday morning. Stephanie knew about it because her cousin Val attended that particular prayer meeting. Steph said that Val said that Leslie just broke down sobbing, then poured out all the sordid details while her Christian sisters fed her tissues.
Leslie discovered the horrific truth when she became concerned about some odd behavior and read her son’s emails while he was at school. Turns out he’d been frequenting gay chat rooms, emailing a school counselor about his feelings, and corresponding with some other teenaged boy with whom he was having a relationship.
Becka thought about Donny Barker, his high-pitched, somewhat feminine voice, his delicate hands and girlish gait, not to mention his talent for drama and art. She might’ve guessed.
She topped off her mug, warming the coffee that had grown cold, forgotten during the phone call. She smirked, remembering how Leslie used to brag about her Donny when she still attended Laurel Bible Church. Donny was on honor roll. Donny was almost an Eagle Scout. Donny was thinking about going into missions. Becka’s Trevor and Carter were only average students, but at least they weren’t gay.
Once, when the boys were going through a rough time, Leslie had the nerve to suggest Becka read some book on parenting. Becka had smiled, then ignored the advice. Who was Leslie to judge Becka’s mothering skills? It occurred to Becka now that she could have taught Leslie a thing or two. Maybe if Leslie had been a little more laid back, like Becka, Donny wouldn’t be involved in such immoral behavior.
Becka set her coffee down. Leslie mustn’t feel so high and mighty now. She and her deacon husband with their perfect family that did nightly family devotions, took mission trips to Haiti, and home schooled rather than be sullied by public education. Ha, Leslie Barker! Looks like your son got sullied anyhow.
She pulled her address book from a shelf and took it, along with the cordless phone and a fresh pack of double-stuff Oreos to the kitchen island. She parked on one of the stools, then pointed the remote at the small countertop television, changing channels until she found what she was looking for—General Hospital. She thumbed through the address book.
Top layer of the cookie neatly munched off, Becka licked the white middle and watched TV. On screen, an actress wearing a red negligee rolled around in a king-sized bed with the muscular husband of another character. The scene aroused her and she licked the frosting harder, riveted.
“Hey mom,” The door slammed as Carter trooped in from school. He leaned his skateboard in the entry and dropped his book bag beside it. “We got any ice cream?”
Becka wiped black cookie crumbs from her lip. “Fudge swirl. Just a little left.”
On his way to the freezer, he paused to retrieve a clean spoon from the dishwasher. Becka watched his eyes linger on the TV screen. The actress’s skimpy attire had shifted during her wild mattress dance, so nearly her entire breast was exposed. Carter swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. No, she didn’t have to worry about him being gay.
Suddenly Ronald McDonald’s face filled the screen and Carter lost interest. Once he grabbed the gallon ice cream container, he headed for his bedroom.
Taking advantage of the commercial break, Becka started dialing. Leslie wasn’t her favorite person; that was for sure. But she was a sister in Christ. The least Becka could do was call all the ladies at church so they could pray for her during this difficult time.
Mary Herman picked up on the other end of the line, and Becka muted the TV before speaking. “Hello Mary, this is Becka. I haven’t caught you at a bad time? Good. I’ve got a prayer request. It’s just awful…”
Leslie discovered the horrific truth when she became concerned about some odd behavior and read her son’s emails while he was at school. Turns out he’d been frequenting gay chat rooms, emailing a school counselor about his feelings, and corresponding with some other teenaged boy with whom he was having a relationship.
Becka thought about Donny Barker, his high-pitched, somewhat feminine voice, his delicate hands and girlish gait, not to mention his talent for drama and art. She might’ve guessed.
She topped off her mug, warming the coffee that had grown cold, forgotten during the phone call. She smirked, remembering how Leslie used to brag about her Donny when she still attended Laurel Bible Church. Donny was on honor roll. Donny was almost an Eagle Scout. Donny was thinking about going into missions. Becka’s Trevor and Carter were only average students, but at least they weren’t gay.
Once, when the boys were going through a rough time, Leslie had the nerve to suggest Becka read some book on parenting. Becka had smiled, then ignored the advice. Who was Leslie to judge Becka’s mothering skills? It occurred to Becka now that she could have taught Leslie a thing or two. Maybe if Leslie had been a little more laid back, like Becka, Donny wouldn’t be involved in such immoral behavior.
Becka set her coffee down. Leslie mustn’t feel so high and mighty now. She and her deacon husband with their perfect family that did nightly family devotions, took mission trips to Haiti, and home schooled rather than be sullied by public education. Ha, Leslie Barker! Looks like your son got sullied anyhow.
She pulled her address book from a shelf and took it, along with the cordless phone and a fresh pack of double-stuff Oreos to the kitchen island. She parked on one of the stools, then pointed the remote at the small countertop television, changing channels until she found what she was looking for—General Hospital. She thumbed through the address book.
Top layer of the cookie neatly munched off, Becka licked the white middle and watched TV. On screen, an actress wearing a red negligee rolled around in a king-sized bed with the muscular husband of another character. The scene aroused her and she licked the frosting harder, riveted.
“Hey mom,” The door slammed as Carter trooped in from school. He leaned his skateboard in the entry and dropped his book bag beside it. “We got any ice cream?”
Becka wiped black cookie crumbs from her lip. “Fudge swirl. Just a little left.”
On his way to the freezer, he paused to retrieve a clean spoon from the dishwasher. Becka watched his eyes linger on the TV screen. The actress’s skimpy attire had shifted during her wild mattress dance, so nearly her entire breast was exposed. Carter swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. No, she didn’t have to worry about him being gay.
Suddenly Ronald McDonald’s face filled the screen and Carter lost interest. Once he grabbed the gallon ice cream container, he headed for his bedroom.
Taking advantage of the commercial break, Becka started dialing. Leslie wasn’t her favorite person; that was for sure. But she was a sister in Christ. The least Becka could do was call all the ladies at church so they could pray for her during this difficult time.
Mary Herman picked up on the other end of the line, and Becka muted the TV before speaking. “Hello Mary, this is Becka. I haven’t caught you at a bad time? Good. I’ve got a prayer request. It’s just awful…”
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