Fever: A scene (De-familiarizing the familiar)

She was led outside into the sun. The courtyard was a negative, sliding, and the sky was white or silver—tinny when tapped. Dark silhouettes surrounded her body, and when one spoke, it moved to its haunches; she had become a small dot. The base of the lamppost was cold through her pants. She tried to be courteous by listening and, around her eyes, forming shades like finger goggles—a darkroom to develop the face of the one looking in. The rest of them were just shoes encircling her—pairs of shadows.

“We can’t let her go by herself,” she heard, but barely. They were trying to persuade her to let one of them drive her car home. She would rather have died there on the concrete under the dangling impatiens than allow her colleagues to witness the trash-strewn, coffee-cupped, dog-haired interior of the car. For a moment, she was shaken to clarity for the sake of image but could only struggle weakly.

The squatting one squinted into the goggle holes, striking cymbals: “You must drink fluids.” The biggest voice, coming from the longest shoes was saying, “I grew up with my grandmother who had no feeling in her left side, and I was always taught to let her take my arm, not to give it to her.” Smaller pointed shoes clanged, “Two years ago, I took my daughter to the emergency ward where they flushed her kidneys. You should go to emergency.”

Then a black bird swung low in the backdrop. A crow, maybe? She found herself awkwardly mounting its back while a feathered ruff fluttered in her face. Cherry season. They soared into a windy orchard near Woodburn and forcefully dived through the holes in the bird-proof netting—scavenging, stealing. The trees were stencils and the crow clipped and tore around the edges where fruit glared metallic. It was time to take all they could. She clung to a few of the stiff flight feathers by stretching her arms down the insides of the wings (“So, whose car?”) while being shot through cold: now a cinema. She ducked as, with beak, her crow split the screen, and this or that actor, gesture, word, for a moment, was impaled. Now black, now white. Black white black white black white. The screen flapped. Faces undulated.

Home

FRONT

The boy stands on the sidewalk.  He sees a one story ranch house, blue with white shutters, a white flower box under the windows.  The flower box is filled with geraniums.  Water drips from the box.  The boy's mother has just finished watering and has gone inside.  The boy sees a basketball hoop with backboard, orange and white, where he will one day learn to shoot baskets.  He sees a lawn he will mow when he's old enough.  He sees a dirty window looking into the garage.  Astroturf on the front step catches his attention.  The front door opens and the boy is startled by the sight of his father.

LEFT SIDE

The boy sits on the fence.  He sees the shuffleboard court where he will one day learn to play, slamming the pucks together as hard as possible.  He sees the wooden holder for the pucks and sticks.  He knows it's dirty and filled with cobwebs.  He sees the hammock where he will one day lie down, not realizing one side is unhooked, and crack his head open on the wall. He will go to the hospital and get four stitches.  He will remember how the thread feels going through his scalp.  The boy hears a voice and turns to see his father coming around the corner of the house.

RIGHT SIDE

The boy sits on this fence, too.  He looks down at the dog run, which will be clean for Poojie and Mindy and which will later become dirty and neglected.  It will be a place of filth and embarrassment.  He sees the storage shed where he will one day take off his pants, and so will Billy Bea, and she will sit on his lap.  Billy Bea will later pee into a cardboard box and the boy will watch.  He sees the kitchen window and into the kitchen, where he will one day throw a chair across the room and his father will tackle him.  Through the kitchen window, he sees his father now, grimacing.  

BACK

The boy stands on the lawn he will someday mow, where he will pick up dog turds until he doesn't care anymore.  He sees the homemade play house, two stories with a trap door.  He sees his bedroom window, and his sister's.  He sees the orange tree in front of his window, his mother's rose bushes throughout the yard.  He sees the cherry tree which will one day die.  He sees the patio, the ping pong table, the hot tub.  When he is older the boy will have sex in the hot tub with a girl he doesn't know well and later, when he pees, it will burn.  He sees the sliding glass door and through it, the dining room.  His father is sitting at the table.

TOP

The boy is floating above the house, looking down.  He sees the wood shingles, which will one day catch fire and burn.  He sees the chimney, television antenna anchored to it.  In the dirty rain gutters he sees pieces of Nerf footballs and balsa wood airplanes.   He thinks his toys look wrong in the gutters.  Suddenly everything looks wrong to him, everything looks dirty.  At this height, from this angle, he can't see his father. But the boy knows he is down there, somewhere, hating himself, ready to attack his family.

Mongolia (something inexplicable upsets the natural order)

She was flipping through a coffeetable book looking at photographs of snow-steepled mountains, children playing in front of yurts, herds of horses racing across the steppes. "I'd like to go to Mongolia," she said dreamily.

He was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, or paying bills, or cleaning his glasses, she didn't know what. He cleared his throat. She heard the sound of rustling as he unwrapped a throat lozenge; he was addicted to them.

"You can't go to Mongolia," he said.

"What?"

"You can't just go to Mongolia, people don't just go to Mongolia. It's a complicated place. It's primitive, it could be dangerous."

She had paused at a photo of five tribesmen mounted on shaggy horses. Some kind of festival. The riders wore lavishly decorated cloaks and carried silken banners. Crimson tassels hung from the horses' bridles. The sky was deep blue—cerulean, she thought that color was called. The men looked fierce and happy. The horses' tails streamed in the wind.

Can't just go to Mongolia. She heard him as from a great distance, though he was just across the room. His words dislodged a small stone that been pressing against her heart for 18 years. The stone dropped, clattering and echoing as it fell. She waited for it to strike bottom, but the space within her was bottomless, it seemed. She felt queasy. There were hoofbeats in her ears. She saw her marriage clearly for the first time--a pale river flowing through a featureless valley. For years nothing had altered or obstructed its placid current. The beat of hooves grew louder, and now she could hear the wild flapping of banners, the ecstatic shouts of riders as they urged their horses on across the great grassy plains of Mongolia.

Untitled

punkgirl61: hey dude whats up?
surfloverasta: Wouldn’t you like to know...
punkgirl61: yeah thats why i asked
punkgirl61: lol :)
surfloverasta: Nothing, I’m just waxing my surfboard.
punkgirl61: thats so kool!!! where are you going surfing today
surfloverasta: I’ll probably drive to Half Moon Bay with some of my buddies.
surfloverasta: You know, just the dudes :)
punkgirl61: sweet! im just sittin here chillin
punkgirl61: painting my nails
punkgirl61: i got grounded for 3 weeks so i am soooooo bored
surfloverasta: Do you want to come surfing with me?
punkgirl61: ummm yeah!!!! no brainer! but i don’t know how to surf
surfloverasta: I’d teach you
punkgirl61: ok but umm we’ve never like hung out before...
surfloverasta: I think it would be fun to finally meet. You said you live in San Francisco, right?
punkgirl61: yeah
surfloverasta: I live in Marin. I could pick you up on my way down to Half Moon Bay. It would be right on the way.
punkgirl61: wait how old are you again? i thought you said you were 16
surfloverasta: I am 16.
punkgirl61: do you have your driver’s license?
surfloverasta: Of course I have a license
punkgirl61: but you can’t drive me around without an adult until you’re 17 and a half right?
punkgirl61: i mean but we don’t have to follow the law, im just saying what you’re supposed to do when you first get a license
punkgirl61: whatever it totally doesnt matter, forget i said that
surfloverasta: Well, actually I just moved here from Massachusetts, and you don’t have to be 17 and half in Mass to drive minors around.... so I think I have a different type of license. I think it will be okay.
punkgirl61: ok kool
surfloverasta: So should I pick you up around 11:30?
punkgirl61: um yeah 11:30 sounds great
surfloverasta: Terrific. What’s your address?
punkgirl61: 4051 Folsom
punkgirl61: um can you park down the street a couple houses? i don’t want my mom to see that im leaving the house
punkgirl61: i’m grounded remember
surfloverasta: Right. Of course. I can certainly park a couple houses down.
punkgirl61: like maybe on the corner of folsom and 21st? i’ll just meet you on that corner ok
surfloverasta: Okay. I’ll pick you up on the corner of Folsom and 21st.
surfloverasta: At 11:30.

(pause)

punkgirl61: whats your name again?
punkgirl61: lol :)
surfloverasta: :) I’m Harry. You’re Kim, right?
punkgirl61: harry? dude thats such an old man name! that sucks. what’s your last name, bush?
punkgirl61: huh huh huh
punkgirl61: wait i thought you said your name was mike or matt or something
surfloverasta: No, my buddy’s name is Matt. I guess I must have been telling you about him?
punkgirl61: oh yeah what about your buddies that were going to go surfing with you???
surfloverasta: That’s okay, I can go with them another time. I wouldn’t want you to have to be the only girl hanging out with all the dudes, you know? ;-)
punkgirl61: ok

(pause)

surfloverasta: So see you at 11:30?
punkgirl61: um i guess so
surfloverasta: Are you ok?
punkgirl61: totally why
surfloverasta: You got quiet.
punkgirl61: i’m still here
surfloverasta: All right, so I’ll see you soon?
punkgirl61: ok
surfloverasta: Are you sure you’ll be there?
punkgirl61: i said i would, didn’t i
surfloverasta: Yes, but you also got quiet, so I’m thinking that you might be changing your mind.
punkgirl61: no, i’ll totally be there.
punkgirl61: corner of folsom and 21st
punkgirl61: at 11:30.
surfloverasta: Great. I’ll see you soon.
punkgirl61: totally
punkgirl61: l8er skater

(pause)

punkgirl61: harry? you still there?

The Visitation

I jumped at the touch.  "Don't touch me," I screamed, "don't ever touch me."

I rubbed furiously at the place where his hand had touched me.  I screamed and clawed at my arm.   He was stuck on to me and the pain was unbearable.  I screamed and ripped at my skin, my  burning, impregnated skin until they came and gave me the shot.   Then, as usual, I remembered nothing.  I woke in my bed in the small room next to the nurses' station.  The room was teaming with things crawling everywhere.  They did not frighten me so much because they don't touch me, in fact, they kept completely clear of me and my bed.  Writhing and creeping on the walls and ceiling, they were the size of small bats.

The nurse came in, walking through them as though she was invisible.  "How are you now?" she said cheerily. "Sorry about that earlier.  It was the new nurse - didn't know about not touching."

I watched as she began to change shape in front of me.  Subtle at first it was as though there was a shimmer around her, a glowing light.  Then slowly bits of her began to dissolve until she was only a beautiful, throbbing shadow.  I felt rested in her presence, the light making peaceful music and soft flutterings.

Suddenly she took form again, sharply and clearly.  "Your daughter, Christine, is coming to visit you."  I sat up suddenly, all the movement in the room ceased, and everything in me focussed on 'Christine'.  I felt a shock run through me.  I had not seen Christine in over a year.   Not since they had taken me away and said that I could not be at home with a child until I was better.

"It would unsettle her to see you this way," they said.

The nurse continued,   "She was so upset not seeing you that they decided to let her visit.

I have to ask you if you want to see her?"

I could only nod my head, words caught in my throat.

She walked into the small visiting room, her hair a golden halo, her eyes the same colour as mine -  hazel they call it.  Without hesitation she came up to my knees and climbed onto my lap and whispered in my ear,  "Daddy, I have  bats in my room too."

Blue Memories

FRAGMENTS EXERCISE

It was the last of the heavy gun cruisers. It was big, fast, and beautiful. It was my first ship and the one I really remember.

After weeks at sea, entering port was a treat. We would drop anchor in the harbor. The best place was Villefranche on the Riviera. the houses on the hills were pink, yellow, and tan. The mountains beyond still had snow in the spring.

The Captain would come onto the bridge in his bathrobe and slippers, usually on the mid-watch. Maybe he couldn't sleep or just wanted to talk to someone. It would be dark except for the running lights of the other ships in the task group.

Taking a taxi into Nice along the Grand Corniche, a thousand feet up, you could see the coast curving along the blue-green water toward Italy.

The club was below street level. As you entered , it was very dark. The band was playing "La Vie en Rose" and the dance floor was crowded with sailors and girls. A civilian in the corner was wearing very dark glasses. I was in France.

Leaving port early in the morning. Fog had rolled in from the Mediterranean obscuring the houses and the mountains behind them. The last boats were hoisted aboard, the anchors weighed, and we slipped out quietly. The water was glass-like and clear enought to see the bottom. A few girls on the dock waved. We were underway.

Ed

Blessings

1 original/ 1 changed

Narrowed shutters - desert so bright that northern hemisphere eyes become slits

        intensity of light burning her retinas - the world divided into horizontal lines of heat.

Desert sands are hazy, drifting, misting:  sand everywhere.

A donkey stands nonchalantly waving his head from side to side, gently and absentmindedly keeping the flies out of his eyes.

Old grey-wet country, cold in winter, lost in fog.

2/6

Every Friday he sat on his blanket by the wall, of noble mien, dressed in rags

back straight, hand outstretched

             I waited                                    all week

for Friday, to put pennies in his hand and receive my blessing in Aramaic.

What did he say? I never knew

One day he wasn't there 

Every Friday has been empty since.

5/3

She stands  by the grave.  He died six centuries ago.

"Bring me a child," she moans - and bribes him with money and honey.

"Circle seven times my grave ....  and laugh.   Laughing brings children."

                                                                                      sic:  Isaac

9/3

The Bride stood under the canopy and knew it was wrong. She looked into the eyes of her true love who did not stand beside her.  Heart traitor her blood sang.   She extended her hand for the ring 

and gave away her life

      But gained a daughter.

7/4

Under the palm trees, by the blue, coral waters they took their little baby;  let her crawl spider-style, naked, merging with sand, wind and waves.

.......stupid parents, thoughtless people, you'll lose the child, she'll get bitten, eaten, stolen...........

The child grew tall, strong and well - into a young woman - with distant memories of freedom in her soul - hands and knees in sand, eye level with coral waters.

8/5

Night-time prayers.  Send them free and the angels will pick them up.  They hover, you know, waiting.  She lifted her eyes, kissed her hands and prayed for the daughter in the army, at the front.

4/6

The dead face on the television screen.  A passport photograph or perhaps an army shot.

How old?   Sweet eighteen - never nineteen.

I hold your hand, child.  Die bravely.

That is what they will say - while your mother weeps.

3/7

Shots, shouts - silence.  Running feet.  Cries and screams and now the siren of the ambulance.

The moans of the wounded.  Fear - sick, cold and wet.  Run away too.   Fear -my feet move

taking me into the debris.

Go home           Go home          now

10/8

It was over and begun again.  Life lets go and carries on and the desert sands still swirl and the donkey blinks.   Blessings come in many forms and sometimes only stay awhile.  Blessings while they last, until the sand reclaims what has always been hers, and the star overhead stays lit and does not go out.