Saturday, April 30, 2011
Spelunking
Just some writing...
Katie and Aaron were stuck. Not an existential stuck, but quite physically stuck. Aaron pulled his legs closer to him, forcing himself to be curl into the fetal position as Katie was bent over him, her cheek resting on the top of his head, and her sunlight blond hair hanging into his face. Katie was arched over against what felt like a rock wall, her back rounded like a cat that was pissed off and ready to hiss at anything. Aaron was sitting there, thinking to himself that this would be a preferred position if they were on a comfortable bed or even a couch, but as they were trapped in some tiny space in a cave it sucked. Katie and Aaron were stuck.
“How did this happen?” Katie sighed, her breathing strangled as her rib cage expanded into Aaron’s knee. She couldn’t even breathe effectively because Aaron’s long legs were in the way. She glared across from her at the opening into the larger area of the cave, heaving another giant sigh, “This is all your fault.”
“Me? You were the one who signed us up for this stupid trip.” Aaron tried to shift his head out from under Katie’s only to have her head fall onto his shoulder.
“You’re the one who took us down this rabbit hole.” Katie responded. Aaron could hear her teeth grind in anger, almost like the sound of a steamroller pounding rocks into a pot-hole.
It was true. He was the one who decided that it would be fun to investigate the small hole in the back of the cave. “It’ll be just like crawling through the tunnels at the McDonalds playground.” He had told her. It would have been, except for the fact that the two of them were much older and, therefore, much larger than when they were children. Aaron shrugged at the thought.
“Stop moving,” she grumbled as his shoulder knocked her nose then mumbling under her breath, “Idiot”
Yes, he thought, he really was an idiot.
“Do you think that the group would hear us if we yelled for them?” Katie tried to shift her body so that she wasn’t arched over him. He could tell that not only was this position making her physically uncomfortable, but having his face that close to her chest was not only uncomfortable for her but also disgusting.
“I doubt it. We will probably die here.”
“Not funny.”
Aaron chucked, thinking that her growl sounded more like that of a koala cub rather than a ferocious mama lion. They had traveled so far into the cave that, realistically, there was no way that anyone from the main group could find them. Eventually they would have to try and get out of this position, which would prove to be very difficult unless she voluntarily decided to get a little closer to him.
“Heaven forbid,” he whispered, listening to the sarcasm of his voice as it seemed dripped down the wall.
IIIII
“Hey! Katie! Over here!” Aaron screamed as he waved his small arms.
Katie was running full speed towards him through the grass, the wind whipping her tiny blond pigtails behind her like they were each a small kite. Aaron smiled through a small laugh as he began to climb the large cedar tree that he was sitting next to.
“Wait for me Aaron!” Katie’s small voice called as she caught up to him, looking up at the tall tree with her eyes wide open, “I…I…I don’t wanna climb that.” She pointed up at the large tree, her finger shaking.
“It isn’t that scary!” Aaron rolled his eyes, leaping onto the branch in a sitting position, staring down at the little girl in from of him, “Girl’s are stupid” he continued to grumble.
“I hate you!” Katie spat at him before turning around and stomping back towards the house. Aaron thought that he should call her back as his small face fell, ashamed at what he had said, though he really thought it was true.
IIIII
Katie was afraid of everything he liked, which made him think that she just couldn’t stand being near him. One time he had collected a jar of spiders and was so excited to show them to her but when he did show her, Katie screamed and hit the jar away from her. It had landed in the floor and broken. Some of the spiders had escaped but Aaron, picking up the broken glass in his hand, realized that the majority of the spiders had been crushed and killed by the glass that had caved in on them except for one. The small spider, which had an almost emerald tinge to its fur, was stuck under a small piece of glass, its legs flailing wildly. He felt like that spider now as he rolled his eyes to the side, glancing at Katie’s head on his shoulder.
“Have I ever told you how much I hate you?” Katie groaned as she moved her head to the side. Aaron could feel her warm breath on his neck as she spoke, and it made his hair stand on end.
“Yes, you’ve made it very clear how much you hate me on numerous occasions. If I could disappear from the world without a trace, I am sure that you would kick up your heels and sing.” Aaron tried to force out sarcasm, but he was certain that his attempt failed when he felt Katie’s head relax a little bit more into his. He wasn’t sure whether to feel comforted or unnerved by that movement.
“Do you think that they are ever going to find us?” Katie asked, her voice sounding like a lost child in a supermarket asking the clerk where her parents were. Aaron smiled at her change in tone towards him.
“I am pretty sure that they left the cave already,” Aaron looked down at his watch and shrugged, being careful not to over emphasize the gesture as to not disturb her head too much. “Maybe when the bus gets back to the hotel they will notice we aren’t with them. In the meantime there is no reason we shouldn’t get comfortable” He placed his hands around her waist to try and pull her around and towards him.
“Get your hands off of me!” Katie screamed and her body recoiled like a spring, her back hitting the wall and her leg smashing down on his, an audible crack sounding in the tiny hole.
IIIII
Aaron watched Katie sweep off the porch as he mended the fence for her father. He had been working for Katie’s family this year, their first year in middle school. Her mom had just passed away a year ago and her father worked two jobs just to support them. Saturdays were always nice because he would come over and help Katie’s father do heavy labor while Katie maintained her mother’s porch garden.
“Hey, Aaron, come here and help me lift this!” Katie demanded. Aaron threw down the hammer by the pile of wood and nails and began walking towards the porch.
“Honey, look out!” Aaron heard her father scream from the roof as a clay roof tile slid towards the lip of the gutter and off of the roof. He felt like it was falling in slow motion as Aaron ran towards Katie, grabbing her around the middle and forcing her out of the way, her body falling back onto his left wrist. A surge of pain shot through his entire arm as he felt the bone in his wrist snap as it hit the wooden floor of the porch, Katie’s shoulder sandwiching it in.
“Thanks.” Katie shook the dizziness from her head, realizing that Aaron was still hanging onto her, “Get off of me! Do you think that you’re some kind of hero? Off!” Katie stood up, smacking him away from her and walking inside.
“Girls, no one ever understands them.” Katie’s father yelled down to Aaron, shaking his head. Aaron hoped that Katie’s father would have a talk to his daughter about this. He had practically saved her from having her head split open by a piece of the roof, and all she did was get angry at him! Aaron became so frustrated that he chose to ignore the throbbing of his wrist and went back to work. He worked quietly, but his movements were sharp as he slammed down the hammer on the fencing, imagining that the post was Katie’s head.
“Aaron.” A small voice squeaked out behind him. He turned, only to be met by Katie’s large brown eyes, and her small hands holding out an envelope, a chocolate chip cookie on top, “I…I’m sor…I sure hope your hand is okay.”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Aaron rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t she have just said sorry and gotten over herself. He grabbed the letter and the cookie, nodded “thanks” and stormed out of the property only to hide behind one of the large cedar trees to watch her. She had her head cradled in her hands and her shoulders were palpating with the sobs he knew were coming from her great big eyes.
“Damnit” Aaron grumbled as he left, ignoring his mother berating him about not coming home sooner when he had hurt his wrist, ignoring her talking while driving him to the hospital, ignoring the doctor telling him it was broken with multiple stress fractures because he did work with a broken wrist, and thankfully getting a chance to ignore the world once he was put under anesthesia so that they could put nails in his wrist.
IIIII
“Aaron…Aaron are you okay?” Katie had repositioned herself, sitting with her back on the wall to his right, her legs under his, and the possible broken leg on top of her lap.
“Ouch. Woman, stop that” Aaron growled as she began to pull up his pant leg. He didn’t know what she was expecting to see, considering it was already dark in the cave to begin with.
“Don’t call me “woman,” idiot.”
“That’s that second time you called me an idiot. At least calling you a woman isn’t untrue.”
“Neither is calling you and idiot.” Katie glared at him, “Give me the wrap on your wrist.”
“Remember when you broke my wrist back in middle school? The doctor said that anytime I did something stressful like, I don’t know, climbing in a cave, I would need to wrap it up.” Aaron spat bitterly at her.
“You aren’t climbing now so hand it over.” Katie looked at him like he was a wounded gazelle on the Serengeti, ready to be pounced on and devoured by a sadistic lioness who just killed for the sheer enjoyment of it. He consented to her glare and unwrapped the bandage from his wrist, handing it to her and stifling groans of pain as she began to twist it around his leg.
“What time do you think it is?” Aaron asked as he leaned his weight even harder against the wall behind him, fatigue suddenly hitting him.
“Well we started spelunking at eight this morning and it has had to have been at least two hours so far. Everyone was planning on heading back to the hotel around ten and you already said that they probably left.” Katie answered his questions without any anger or pretense, her voice completely serious.
IIIII
She looked so beautiful, walking into the Olive Garden in her velour emerald green dress. Her hair was hanging in wavy locks over her shoulder. Every step she took towards him made his heart pound even faster than it had while he was nervously waiting for her to arrive.
“Hey,” She said softly as she reached the table and smiled down at him. Bolting upright like a rocket he stood and pulled the chair out for her, sitting down across from her once she had slid the off-white shawl from her shoulders.
“You look amazing.” Aaron swallowed, smiling once the nervousness had seemed to pass. They had great conversation during dinner, and the actual dance went better than he had expected. His two left feet swung Katie around the dance floor, her laughter ringing in his ears like the pealing of a bell.
On the ride home Katie couldn’t stop talking about the night that they had had together and how nice it was to see everyone together one last time before graduation. They were going to colleges on different ends of the country, so these last moments were important for him, like the last few seconds of a game when everything rests on the toe of one player kicking the ball into the goal. As he pulled up to the side of her house Aaron breathed in as much air as he could, getting ready to speak.
“Hey, your Mom is here!” Katie said before Aaron could even form words, jumping out of the car. Aaron’s head twitched to the side, he blinked, and then stepped out of the car to his red haired mother coming out of the door, arm in arm with Katie’s father.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Aaron asked as he walked up next to Katie, grabbing her hand in his.
“Aaron,” Katie turned her head into his, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “You didn’t know?”
IIIII
“Aaron,” Katie nudged his shoulder to wake him from staring aimlessly. He shook his head and looked her in the eyes, “What were you thinking about?”
“Prom.” He responded shortly. A lot of things had happened between them since they were in high school. Life had seemed like a soft breeze, but had quickly turned into a howling wind.
“That was an interesting night. I still can’t believe that you didn’t know our parents were dating. Dad knew that she was waiting to tell you until the right moment; I guess it ended up okay though.”
“Yeah, it was okay.” Aaron nodded.
“Katie! Aaron! Are you guys alright?!” A deep voice echoed through the cave wall, two bright circles shining into the small alcove.
“Besides the fact that I have been stuck with this idiot for the past few hours, I’m doing fine. He broke his leg though.” Katie said, trying to maneuver around him so that she didn’t touch his leg, which he was appreciative of.
“What are you talking about? You’re the one who landed on it!”
“Aaron, why can’t you be nice to her once in a while?” Aaron cringed as he heard his mother’s voice berate him, her red hair just visible in the small tunnel.
“Yeah. I knew there was a reason I never wanted a brother!” Katie turned and stuck her tongue out as she was pulled out of the small niche in the cave by his mother.
“Well, I never wanted a sister!” He yelled back as his mother’s piercing glaze shot at him as she grabbed his wrist and began to pull. I definitely didn’t want Katie as a sister; he thought to himself again, gingerly dragging his broken leg behind him, “By the way, we are never going Spelunking again!”
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Kix are for Kids...but so is Grammar
"I know it well, I read it in the grammar long ago" - Titus Andronicus
Reading cereal boxes as a kid is the reason so many adults do not know proper grammar! I finally figured it out!
I bought some Kix yesterday because I ran out of Corn Flakes and needed another cereal. While at Fresh n' Easy I decided that I didn't want an "adult" cereal and decided for Kix because if any of us watched T.V. as children, we know that "Kix are for kids, and they taste great too!" This was my first problem with the cereal. Kix are for Kids could be grammatically correct if the company is talking about the multiple little tiny corn-puffs in the bowl since "kix" is both plural and singular at the same time (we don't have one kix and many kixes). In this case it's grammatically correct because a plural noun is followed by a plural verb, which "are" is.
Here comes the problem...
If the company is talking about their product instead, as in the brand name "Kix" with a capital "K," instead of the individual bowl of cereal, then the grammar is wrong. Brand names are collective nouns, which means that they get singular verbs. We don't say "Petco are" or "Silly Putty are" because it's ungrammatical. If the company meant their product, then the slogan should be "Kix is for Kids," which they wouldn't want to do because the two /s/ sounds in a row would be hard for kids to pronounce, making the product less kid friendly, ultimately making it less profitable. Linguistically it makes sense; grammatically it doesn't.
Yet, that is not the end of the grammar lesson. On the back of the box in big print it says "Great KIX Taste = Happy Kids." Because most of us are used to these kinds of slogans, we understand immediately what is trying to be said: "Kix cereal tastes really good, so buying it will make you (or your kids) happy." However, when said out loud this sentence could be devastating. "Great KIX taste equals happy kids." By definition Equal when used as a verb means "to be or become equal to." The latter definition fits alright: "Greak KIX taste becomes happy kids," but it doesn't make sense; we would never say it. Besides, it sounds like the taste of the cereal somehow becomes a living being and creates a happy child.
The real problem is when we use the first part of the definition: the "to be." We're used to this verb in mathematical equations. 2+2=4 will become "two plus two equals four" or "two plus two is four." Let's apply the same mathematical principle as well as the dictionary definition to our Kix equation: "Greak Kix taste is happy kids." I hope you see the problem in this. Unless the company is condoning cannibalism in the very real Sweeney Todd fashion, then the sentence is ungrammatical. If they meant the actual grammar to be correct and send a message to those eating the cereal that "is happy kids," then I just had myself a breakfast full of child. Bon appitit!
Reading cereal boxes as a kid is the reason so many adults do not know proper grammar! I finally figured it out!
I bought some Kix yesterday because I ran out of Corn Flakes and needed another cereal. While at Fresh n' Easy I decided that I didn't want an "adult" cereal and decided for Kix because if any of us watched T.V. as children, we know that "Kix are for kids, and they taste great too!" This was my first problem with the cereal. Kix are for Kids could be grammatically correct if the company is talking about the multiple little tiny corn-puffs in the bowl since "kix" is both plural and singular at the same time (we don't have one kix and many kixes). In this case it's grammatically correct because a plural noun is followed by a plural verb, which "are" is.
Here comes the problem...
If the company is talking about their product instead, as in the brand name "Kix" with a capital "K," instead of the individual bowl of cereal, then the grammar is wrong. Brand names are collective nouns, which means that they get singular verbs. We don't say "Petco are" or "Silly Putty are" because it's ungrammatical. If the company meant their product, then the slogan should be "Kix is for Kids," which they wouldn't want to do because the two /s/ sounds in a row would be hard for kids to pronounce, making the product less kid friendly, ultimately making it less profitable. Linguistically it makes sense; grammatically it doesn't.
Yet, that is not the end of the grammar lesson. On the back of the box in big print it says "Great KIX Taste = Happy Kids." Because most of us are used to these kinds of slogans, we understand immediately what is trying to be said: "Kix cereal tastes really good, so buying it will make you (or your kids) happy." However, when said out loud this sentence could be devastating. "Great KIX taste equals happy kids." By definition Equal when used as a verb means "to be or become equal to." The latter definition fits alright: "Greak KIX taste becomes happy kids," but it doesn't make sense; we would never say it. Besides, it sounds like the taste of the cereal somehow becomes a living being and creates a happy child.
The real problem is when we use the first part of the definition: the "to be." We're used to this verb in mathematical equations. 2+2=4 will become "two plus two equals four" or "two plus two is four." Let's apply the same mathematical principle as well as the dictionary definition to our Kix equation: "Greak Kix taste is happy kids." I hope you see the problem in this. Unless the company is condoning cannibalism in the very real Sweeney Todd fashion, then the sentence is ungrammatical. If they meant the actual grammar to be correct and send a message to those eating the cereal that "is happy kids," then I just had myself a breakfast full of child. Bon appitit!
Saturday, April 23, 2011
I Pack a Chainsaw
"The violent delights have violent ends" - Romeo and Juliet
The other evening one of my lovely roommates was looking online for a toy chainsaw to give to me. One of my favorite weapons is a chainsaw (a chain scythe is also a favorite of mine), and much of the times I've been aggravated or frustrated I have expressed to my roommates and friends that I desired a chainsaw. I should qualify this desire by saying that I would never actually use it on something that is living, but just the sheer ability to break something into thousands of pieces by moving a machine with rapidly spinning blades connected to a chain just sounds fun.
Anger is really something that American culture doesn't do very well. We get angry, we treat people like shit, and then we move along on our grumble-filled way. Many people become violent, punching everything from pillows, to walls, to their families. This isn't the best way to vent, obviously, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't feel good.
Facebook used to have an application called Flair (I have no idea if they still do) and you used to be able to use points to purchase a virtual button that had a saying on it. One of the flair that I collected, one that was also on the list of top purchased, said "Why is it illegal to stab stupid people?" I thought that this was hilarious because everyone has come up with someone who is so idiotic that only a quick jab with a box-cutter might cure them of their stupidity. While this is a sad statement to admit, I've been there. I'm sure you've been there too.
Violent games, television shows and movies are somewhat to blame with our cultures disassociation with violence, but it is probably also a culprit for not being allowed to express anger in a violent manner. I can't speak for everyone else, but sometimes it seems like the only way to cope with certain situations that frustrate me to the boiling point is to break something.
When I was seven or eight years old I remember my cousin jumping off the top bunk of my bed and onto my Barbie house on purpose. Both of us ran crying to my parents, my cousin blamed me, and because she was three years younger than me, I was blamed for destroying my own toy. I got so mad that I ran back upstairs into my room, yanked a glass framed Aladdin poster from the wall, and slammed it on the ground, shattering the glass. Of course I got in trouble for both, but I didn't care because that one simple violent act dissolved my anger.
Another time, probably sometime in 6th grade, a few girls were seriously bullying one of my friends after school. I walked right up to the three of them and punched the leader of the bullying in the stomach. Once she fell to the ground in tears and gasping for air, her friends took off. Yes, I got detention, but seeing my friend being hurt angered me to the point where words wouldn't have done anything.
Sometimes being younger has its advantages in that respect. If a high school boy slugs a guy for cutting in front of him there is no doubt that he will get in trouble, but a lot of the physicality of the fight will be chalked up to him being a post-pubescent testosterone-laden juvenile. Interestingly enough, a similar situation happening at the parking lot of a bar would be regarded the same, except for possible alcohol involvement.
I'm not advocating physical violence against human beings--by no means!--but I feel like our culture doesn't provide sufficient enough outlets for any show of physical anger. In Japan there a establishments where people can rent a room, a specific weapon good for smashing things, and a various amount of dishware and other breakable objects. This just sounds so much fun and such a stress reliever to me. Anyone else up for a trip to Japan? Seriously.
After doing a quick search for crime rate statistics I found that per capita, the united states has 80.0645 crimes per 1,000 people while Japan only has 19.9886 crimes per 1,000 people. While I'm sure that there are other cultural factors that weigh int these statistics, perhaps anger management is one of them. Accepting the violent tendencies of humanity and giving an outlet for them rather than suppressing anger to the point that one has nothing but other humans to take their anger out on once they reach the end of their fuse.
Thankfully, I have a very long fuse. My anger moves on a five level continuum: 1) Frustrated, 2) Mad, 3) Apathetic, 4) Pissed, and 5) Angry. I've probably only been at the fifth stage three or four times in my life, two of those times are accounted above, and this is a good thing. Recently a plethora of crap has been happening that has situated me freely moving in between levels three and four. I feel like the songs "I Can't Decide" by the Scissor Sisters, "They're Coming to Take Me Away" by NeuroticFish, and "Break Stuff" by Limp Bizkit have been my anthems. The third song listed contains multiple references to a chainsaw, which I approve of (although there are other things about the song that make me cringe).
I feel like it would be better, for me and for other people, to just be able to break stuff when we feel angered to the point of violence. Gathering a bunch of foam mattresses in the middle of a field and being able to hack at them with a chainsaw or other weapon of choice would definitely be more conducive to everyone's overall well-being rather then taking unbridled anger out on something that's alive, right?
P.S. If anyone finds a plushie chainsaw let me know because that would be so totally amazing. Couldn't you just imagine how adorable a little fluffy chainsaw would be? So frickin' cute!
The other evening one of my lovely roommates was looking online for a toy chainsaw to give to me. One of my favorite weapons is a chainsaw (a chain scythe is also a favorite of mine), and much of the times I've been aggravated or frustrated I have expressed to my roommates and friends that I desired a chainsaw. I should qualify this desire by saying that I would never actually use it on something that is living, but just the sheer ability to break something into thousands of pieces by moving a machine with rapidly spinning blades connected to a chain just sounds fun.
Anger is really something that American culture doesn't do very well. We get angry, we treat people like shit, and then we move along on our grumble-filled way. Many people become violent, punching everything from pillows, to walls, to their families. This isn't the best way to vent, obviously, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't feel good.
Facebook used to have an application called Flair (I have no idea if they still do) and you used to be able to use points to purchase a virtual button that had a saying on it. One of the flair that I collected, one that was also on the list of top purchased, said "Why is it illegal to stab stupid people?" I thought that this was hilarious because everyone has come up with someone who is so idiotic that only a quick jab with a box-cutter might cure them of their stupidity. While this is a sad statement to admit, I've been there. I'm sure you've been there too.
Violent games, television shows and movies are somewhat to blame with our cultures disassociation with violence, but it is probably also a culprit for not being allowed to express anger in a violent manner. I can't speak for everyone else, but sometimes it seems like the only way to cope with certain situations that frustrate me to the boiling point is to break something.
When I was seven or eight years old I remember my cousin jumping off the top bunk of my bed and onto my Barbie house on purpose. Both of us ran crying to my parents, my cousin blamed me, and because she was three years younger than me, I was blamed for destroying my own toy. I got so mad that I ran back upstairs into my room, yanked a glass framed Aladdin poster from the wall, and slammed it on the ground, shattering the glass. Of course I got in trouble for both, but I didn't care because that one simple violent act dissolved my anger.
Another time, probably sometime in 6th grade, a few girls were seriously bullying one of my friends after school. I walked right up to the three of them and punched the leader of the bullying in the stomach. Once she fell to the ground in tears and gasping for air, her friends took off. Yes, I got detention, but seeing my friend being hurt angered me to the point where words wouldn't have done anything.
Sometimes being younger has its advantages in that respect. If a high school boy slugs a guy for cutting in front of him there is no doubt that he will get in trouble, but a lot of the physicality of the fight will be chalked up to him being a post-pubescent testosterone-laden juvenile. Interestingly enough, a similar situation happening at the parking lot of a bar would be regarded the same, except for possible alcohol involvement.
I'm not advocating physical violence against human beings--by no means!--but I feel like our culture doesn't provide sufficient enough outlets for any show of physical anger. In Japan there a establishments where people can rent a room, a specific weapon good for smashing things, and a various amount of dishware and other breakable objects. This just sounds so much fun and such a stress reliever to me. Anyone else up for a trip to Japan? Seriously.
After doing a quick search for crime rate statistics I found that per capita, the united states has 80.0645 crimes per 1,000 people while Japan only has 19.9886 crimes per 1,000 people. While I'm sure that there are other cultural factors that weigh int these statistics, perhaps anger management is one of them. Accepting the violent tendencies of humanity and giving an outlet for them rather than suppressing anger to the point that one has nothing but other humans to take their anger out on once they reach the end of their fuse.
Thankfully, I have a very long fuse. My anger moves on a five level continuum: 1) Frustrated, 2) Mad, 3) Apathetic, 4) Pissed, and 5) Angry. I've probably only been at the fifth stage three or four times in my life, two of those times are accounted above, and this is a good thing. Recently a plethora of crap has been happening that has situated me freely moving in between levels three and four. I feel like the songs "I Can't Decide" by the Scissor Sisters, "They're Coming to Take Me Away" by NeuroticFish, and "Break Stuff" by Limp Bizkit have been my anthems. The third song listed contains multiple references to a chainsaw, which I approve of (although there are other things about the song that make me cringe).
I feel like it would be better, for me and for other people, to just be able to break stuff when we feel angered to the point of violence. Gathering a bunch of foam mattresses in the middle of a field and being able to hack at them with a chainsaw or other weapon of choice would definitely be more conducive to everyone's overall well-being rather then taking unbridled anger out on something that's alive, right?
P.S. If anyone finds a plushie chainsaw let me know because that would be so totally amazing. Couldn't you just imagine how adorable a little fluffy chainsaw would be? So frickin' cute!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
"Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away"
So, this is a segment from a larger Fan-fiction for the anime/manga Ouran High School Host Club called Semicolon Blues. As it is a fan-fiction. the main events and characters are part of another fictional work. In it I have an original main character whom I adore and am thinking of writing an actual fiction piece with. Some of the same events that happen in the fan-fiction will happen in the actual fiction, so I've been rewritting bits and pieces here and there when I have time. This part is particularly long.
Content Warning: My main character Kate curses like a sailor, so there will be expletives used. This section also deals with many dark themes such as death and the abuse of children, etc, so keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and any similarity to actual events is purely coincidental.
"Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away"
"It wouldn't 'ave done no good, darlin.'" Mom placed her hand on my head, stroking my hair down until she grabbed my chin, carefully lifting my face up to hers.
"Dammit, Mother! You don't get to decide that!" I slammed my fist down on the bed, pulling my face from her grasp and glaring at her piercing green eyes with my matching pair. All my life she had been deciding things under the pretense of protecting me. Newsflash: I didn't need protection from anything or anyone, "Every year we go through the same thing, and every time I happen to be out of the country, up to my neck in final exams, or a graduate thesis. I get a call from your doctor saying that you were rushed to the emergency room and that they did a bit of surgery or gave you a new batch of antibiotics, and you were fine."
"Kathrin, I know, but this time it's different. At my last appointment my docta said that even though I may look halfway past fifty on the outside, inside I'm as shriveled as an eighty nine year old. It's my time, Kathrin. I've been dyin' ev'ry day since that day. Half of my liver is shut down, my stomach's still gone, the only kidney I 'ave left ain't barely doin' nothin', and that doesn' compare to how bone weary and tired I am. I'm ready ta go. There's no poin' ta just getting' myself shot with more drugs. It jus' ain't worth it."
Her breathing showed, I could tell by the hand that was clasped within mine that she had lost a lot of weight. She was my mother; I knew that she never let on how tired and in pain she really was. She could run a marathon while suffering from a kidney stone and would still be smiling and boisterous afterwards. To be honest, I knew that what she said was true. She should have died when I was eleven, and she should have died the next year, and the next, and the next…but she didn't, and I wasn't prepared for it to happen now.
"Mom. I can't accept that…"
"Darlin,' you 'ave to accept it. Now, you look exhausted, and I happen to know that there are a few people out there waitin' for you. I want to get some sleep, and you better too."
"But…"
"No 'buts' little lady. Don't worry; I'll be around tomorrow." Mom shook her hand from mine and rolled over on her side, stroking my cheek with the back of her fingers. I didn't want to leave her side, but her words were as good as a promise. She was too stubborn to die when she told me she would see me tomorrow. I smiled at her and nodded, walking out of the room and shutting the door, coming face to face with Kutano Hisugawa.
"Jaime said that he was only in town for today because he had to head back up to Seattle. He told me to tell you that he had already talked with your mom, and that he would see you next time you came to the states." My fiancé Kurt told me as I stepped around him and into the kitchen, opening the cupboard and pulling out a bottle of Southern Comfort. Jaime had been my best friend throughout elementary school and college, he could have, no, he should have said goodbye to me himself. One would expect as much from a best friend, "Kate, don't you think that…"
"This bottle hasn't been opened since the night before that man killed Lily. Now that he's about to have successfully killed Mom, might as well have a drink for the old man." I poured myself a glass and sipped the hard liquor, ignoring the look that Kurt was giving me. The straight alcohol was sweet, but burned as it went down. I wasn't sure what was hurting me more, the fact that my mother was dying or the fact that I completely understood the rationality of what was going on and couldn't tell her to not give up.
"Kate, I heard what went on in there. Have faith in your Mom's decision."
"Faith? What the hell is faith? I lost any faith I had a long time ago. She has made up her mind that she is going to die; I can't do anything again, just like with Lily. I can't save anyone." I downed the rest of the glass and reached towards the bottle to poor some more when a heavy hand grasped my wrist and squeezed, shaking the bottle from my grasp so that it fell over on the counter.
"Look at me, Kate." Kurt growled from behind me, turning me around to face him. I avoided his eyes. There was nothing he could do, nothing I could do. It was pointless to fight it. Meaningless.
"Look. At. Me." He forcefully grabbed my chin and pulled it towards him, shaking my head slightly so that I wouldn't avoid his eyes, "If everything you've told me about her is true, it means that she's taking initiative of her own fate and going out with dignity and pride. Now maybe they don't pride that in American culture. Maybe you all would rather fight using any means necessary to scrape any life, even a life of poor quality, out of your decaying bodies, but I would rather see my loved one go out with honor and acceptance of death than fear of it, on their own terms. Wouldn't you?"
In Japanese history there was an ideal called bushido and a part of that was seppuku, ritual suicide. In my understanding, a samurai would take his own life instead of falling at the hands of an enemy in order to preserve his, and by extension his lord's, dignity and honor. Though the tradition wasn't practiced anymore, the idea was still prevalent in the culture, especially where death was concerned. So, Kurt, who was sometimes too Japanese for his own good, was viewing my mother as the honorable samurai not giving into her sickness' hands.
I knew what he said was exactly what my mother was thinking, but was that what I really had a problem with? I wanted my mom to be at peace, but I wanted something else too. I just…I just fucking hated it when everything was so damn confusing! You would think that God would give someone like me a break, but no, no breaks for me.
"I can rationalize everything you just said. I can even go so far as say that if she dies it would be better than having her suffer, but I can't accept it. I can't accept…I dunno what I can't accept about it, I just can't accept it."
"Kate!" Kurt panicked when I fell to my knees and then back onto the floor, my back hitting against the dishwasher rather harshly. I could feel him wrap his arms around me, pulling me into his lap and cradling me in his arms as if I were a little girl. Before I knew it my cheeks were wet, my tears squeezing between the almost nonexistent gap between his chest and my cheek, my hands grabbing him around the neck, my body weeping with me.
"I'm so scared." Raw emotion spilled out with every tear. It didn't feel comfortable. It didn’t feel right. I wanted to take back my actions, my tears, my words, but I couldn't stop clutching onto him and completely exposing myself.
"Kathrin, it's okay to feel afraid. It's okay to feel confused, and it's okay to feel helpless. Everything will turn out the way it is supposed to." Kurt's voice was soothing. Did I believe his words? No. It was too emotional for me, too attached to the situation. I didn't want to feel anything, especially fear, confusion, and helplessness.
"It's not supposed to happen this way. I've prepared myself for it so long that I can't accept it. I've told myself that it would be one more year, one more year, one more year. Now that that year is over I can't face it." I nuzzled my nose into him, his chest muffling my words as I choked them out through the tears. What was it I couldn't face? I was suffering because there was a wall placed between my heart and my head. I understood all of this, everything Kurt and Mom had said, and I could rationalize it and keep my distance. Yet, something inside of me didn't want to accept death because it meant that something else was being taken away from me, and I could do nothing to stop it. I was crying now because those two ideas were in competition with one another, and I wanted to choke the life out of the last one. Too emotional. Too attached.
"Kathrin. You don't have to face it alone."
IIIII
"Come here you little bitch!" He screamed at me as I tried to run from him, but he caught me. He caught me by the wrist, wrenching it in his hand that was so much larger and more powerful than mine.
"Mommy! Mommy!" I screamed towards Mom. She was bleeding, laying in the kitchen, not moving. He slammed his hand over my face to shut me up. I did what I could do; I bit his hand and ran back inside.
"Katie, over here!" Lily whispered to me from somewhere. Slowly the coat closet door opened and I saw Lily's small arm peek out, waving towards where I was standing. Without even thinking I opened the door and squeezed myself inside and, before I knew it, Lily had grabbed me around the middle and buried her face in my chest. I could feel her salty tears through my shirt, "I'm scared Katie. Why's Daddy doing this? Help me." Her little voice cried into me. I had to protect her. I couldn't protect Mom. I looked down at where his knife had bit me too, down on the wrist. It hurt, but it didn't matter as I began stroking Lily's head, my blood mixing in with her blond hair.
"There you are, both of you. Nice work, bitch." He smiled as he opened the closet and grabbed both Lily and me by the hair, dragging the two of us out. I struggled, smacking the hand that was latched onto Lily's hair. Maybe if I could hit it enough times he would let go of her, and she could run away.
"Daddy! What's wrong? Why are you doing this? Daddy!" Lily screamed as the man got us both outside. I stopped hitting him for a moment, my eyes transfixed on his face. He wasn't Daddy anymore. He was a monster. I tried to start struggling again when I felt my face smash into the water of the pool. It felt like a thousand needles were stabbing me all over. I heard Lily scream beside me. No! I wanted to scream. Don't swallow the water! I wanted to tell her, but if I opened my mouth then I would suck in the cold liquid too. I tried to struggle, but I could feel the man's hand firmly on the back of my neck. I had seen our cat do that to her kittens when they needed a bath. This was different though.
"Katwie" No Lily! Don't talk underneath the water. I heard her call my name and I looked over, seeing her eyes plead with me for help. All I could do was fling my hand out to grab hers and squeeze. She grasped mine back, but only for a second. Then I felt her grip slacken, so I screamed and kicked. It didn't matter now, all I needed to do was get away so that I could get her out. Mom had taught me CPR when I was ten, I knew what to do. If only I could get away. If only I could get out of his hands I could save her, but it was getting harder to move and my chest hurt. Mommy! Mommy it hurts!
IIIII
"Kate. Aw, hell. Kate!" I was shaken awake by Kurt. I didn't even remember getting in bed at all. I just remembered sitting on the floor in his arms. I was still in his arms, my head on his arm and the rest of my body falling between his legs. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he had stayed up all night watching over me. I could feel fresh tears start running down my face. Fuck this. I really thought I had cried out half my body weight in water by this point.
I sat up and wiped the trace of water from my face, turning around and forcing a smile, "I'm fine. Just a bad dream."
"Kate. Don't lie to me." Kurt had gotten up and turned me to face him, the same way he did the night before. I turned and walked away from him, going towards the drawers and pulling out a pair of socks, heading back to the bed to put them on.
"Do you know if Mom is up?"
"Kate."
"Would you mind running to the grocery store to pick up a few things for breakfast? Mom's keys should be on the table by the door. You remember how to get there right?"
"Kathrin Joy Ame…"
"We only have bread in the house for breakfast. Man cannot live by carbohydrates alone, complex or otherwise." I shook my finger at him. Kurt glared at me for a few seconds before grabbing his wallet and walking out the door. I heard the keys scrape the table out in the hall and the outside door open. With a sigh I hung my head between my knees, placing my head in my hands. Heaving another gigantic sigh I stood up and walked to Mom's room and knocked on the road.
"Well it's about time, Kathrin." I couldn't help but feel relieved when I heard her voice and saw her face as I opened the door. She didn't look good. Her normal pink skin was tinted gray, and her eyes didn't seem to focus well enough on me, cloudy as they were, "Darlin' you look like you slept on a pincushion all night. I thought that Jap was gonna take care of my lil girl. He promised me so early this morning."
"You talked to Kurt this morning?" I moved a chair over by her bed and sat in it. She reached out and set her hand on top of mine, stroking it with her fingers.
"I only tol' him 'e needed to watch o'er my lil, Kathrin, and that if you two are sleepin' together that he should make an honest woman out uh ya. Even in the afterlife I ain't gonna be ready for a grandchil' out uh wedlock."
"Mom!" I turned my face, trying to hide a blush. She closed one of her eyes, leaving the other one open with the eyebrow lifted. It was her 'I caught someun in the cookie jar again, didn't I?' look, and I never liked it, even now.
"Now, be honest with your momma. You 'ad one of those nasty dreams last night, about your father? You 'ave one every time we see one another. Truly, it makes me a bit depressed." Mom took her hand off of mine and crossed her arms in front of her chest, breaking eye contact with my face, raising her nose to the ceiling as if she were a Parisian walking her poodle.
"He's not my father."
"Bull-crap. 'E's as much your father as 'e is my ex-husband." That was pretty much as close as my mother got to uttering a single curse word, but it carried its weight when she said it, "I went to that prison last week and talked to your father. Now don't you scowl at me like that, Kathrin. I needed to make peace with him. You need to do it too. Once you forgive him, you can start workin' on forgivin' yourself. Now I toll you not to scowl at me like that."
"Why should I forgive him?" There was no reason too. I just needed to live and let live. He was on death row; he wouldn't be alive much longer; he didn't deserve it.
"I let go years ago. This was jus; the last step for me so that I can move on with no anger in my heart and no regrets. Thas's all. Ya need to do it too. Y'are one of the most intelligent people that I know, but sometimes that just makes you more thick-headed. Dagnabit, can we get me off of these here machines; they are drivin' me crazy"
"Mom, they need the machines to monitor how you're doing. Stop being so stubborn."
"Kathrin, please, let me spend my last day with my daughter in peace, without the annoyin' beep beep beep soundin' off like a ticking clock. Clock's already tickin,' and I don' need no darn reminder." She gave me the 'cookie-jar' look again, so I got up and turned off the machines. I could immediately tell that the machine was helping her do more than stay away. He breathing slowed, and at every exhale there was a small wheeze. Granted there had always been a wheeze because she had grown up in the south, but this was different.
"Darlin', do y'all remember the day ya came home from school so frustrated because ya couldn't use a semicolon." I chuckled as I sat back down. I did remember that day. It was in middle school, probably when I was about thirteen or fourteen, and my teacher had spent the entire afternoon re-teaching the class grammar because no one knew the correct way to use a comma or a semicolon.
"I was heartbroken because I loved English so much, and I had always been taught that you put commas when you breathe."
"But you had never experienced a semicolon in anythin' other than the book you'd read."
"And you said, 'Kathrin, just think of it this way. A semicolon is as strong as a period, but it never signifies the end, only a new beginning. Like the calm before the storm, or the breath before a sigh. Then you carried the metaphor too far."
"We'll, I'm your mother, ain't I? I 'ave to teach you life principles and it's never easy to just sit a chil' down and tell them the ways of the world. It stuck though, didn't it."
Of course it stuck. I'm a linguist now, you can't just forget everything you learn about semicolons when your career goal is based on language. I remembered what she said to me then. She said 'you can have semicolon joys, semicolon fears, and even semicolon blues, but all those things just lead up to a finish because there is no end to life's semicolons, just like there isn't an end to life's beginnings. You may put a period on the end, but that just means you're ready to start another sentence'
"I didn't understand that then." I sighed, brushing a strand of blondish gray hair out of her sweat laden face.
"Do ya now, Kathrin?"
"I…I don't know." The truth is that I did. It was the same idea as the metaphor of life being a book and all the chapters' different parts. You might end the chapter, but the book keeps going until there is nothing more to write, until death took you away.
"Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out someday. I want you to promise me somethin, Kathrin. Hush-up and listen while I'm talkin' to you," She uttered her preemptive strike at my interruptions. I never liked her promises. They were difficult to follow through with and always taught some profound lesson. It was more tiring than fulfilling.
"Alright. But only that one, you got it?" I pointed my finger at her, making her smile as she rearranged herself on the bed, a painful wheeze coming from her.
I wan' ya to call your Father. I gave your man the phone numbuh of the prison so that ya don' tear it up or anything.' If ya don' call 'im I promise to haunt you until ya do." Mom reached out a shaking hand and dotted me on the nose with one of her fingers. It was cold, almost like ice. I nodded. I wasn't going to promise out loud, and by her smile she seemed to think I was good for my word. I usually was, but calling that monster was not on my top ten list of things to do, "Kathrin, come up here with your momma for a little bit. I wanna hear ya sing our song. Ya still remember it, don' ya?"
"How could I forget?" I faked a smile as I climbed into bed with her and laid my head on her chest. It was even easier to feel how frail she had become when I was holding onto her. Her heart was barely pumping, and I could hear gurgling in her lungs. No! It was too soon.
"Well, get on with it then." I felt her weakly kiss the top of my head, and I forced back tears. It's nearly impossible to sing when you're crying.
"'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." The tears started now, and I heard a breath catch in Mom's throat. I wanted to look up at her face, but as soon as I tried I felt her grasp around me tighten.
"Kathrin. I love you so much, lil girl. I am so proud of you." I clutched onto her tighter, my hands creating star-shaped wrinkles in the fabric of her nightdress, as the dam holding back my tears collapsed.
"You'll," beat beat beat "never know, dear," beat….beat….beat…"how much I" beat…beat…"love you" beat…."please don't take my sunshine" beat… "away."
Silence. I looked over at the heart meter, the straight line glaring back at me viciously, I buried my head into her, trying to find any warmth that I could.
"I love you, Mommy."
And she was gone.
Content Warning: My main character Kate curses like a sailor, so there will be expletives used. This section also deals with many dark themes such as death and the abuse of children, etc, so keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and any similarity to actual events is purely coincidental.
"Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away"
"It wouldn't 'ave done no good, darlin.'" Mom placed her hand on my head, stroking my hair down until she grabbed my chin, carefully lifting my face up to hers.
"Dammit, Mother! You don't get to decide that!" I slammed my fist down on the bed, pulling my face from her grasp and glaring at her piercing green eyes with my matching pair. All my life she had been deciding things under the pretense of protecting me. Newsflash: I didn't need protection from anything or anyone, "Every year we go through the same thing, and every time I happen to be out of the country, up to my neck in final exams, or a graduate thesis. I get a call from your doctor saying that you were rushed to the emergency room and that they did a bit of surgery or gave you a new batch of antibiotics, and you were fine."
"Kathrin, I know, but this time it's different. At my last appointment my docta said that even though I may look halfway past fifty on the outside, inside I'm as shriveled as an eighty nine year old. It's my time, Kathrin. I've been dyin' ev'ry day since that day. Half of my liver is shut down, my stomach's still gone, the only kidney I 'ave left ain't barely doin' nothin', and that doesn' compare to how bone weary and tired I am. I'm ready ta go. There's no poin' ta just getting' myself shot with more drugs. It jus' ain't worth it."
Her breathing showed, I could tell by the hand that was clasped within mine that she had lost a lot of weight. She was my mother; I knew that she never let on how tired and in pain she really was. She could run a marathon while suffering from a kidney stone and would still be smiling and boisterous afterwards. To be honest, I knew that what she said was true. She should have died when I was eleven, and she should have died the next year, and the next, and the next…but she didn't, and I wasn't prepared for it to happen now.
"Mom. I can't accept that…"
"Darlin,' you 'ave to accept it. Now, you look exhausted, and I happen to know that there are a few people out there waitin' for you. I want to get some sleep, and you better too."
"But…"
"No 'buts' little lady. Don't worry; I'll be around tomorrow." Mom shook her hand from mine and rolled over on her side, stroking my cheek with the back of her fingers. I didn't want to leave her side, but her words were as good as a promise. She was too stubborn to die when she told me she would see me tomorrow. I smiled at her and nodded, walking out of the room and shutting the door, coming face to face with Kutano Hisugawa.
"Jaime said that he was only in town for today because he had to head back up to Seattle. He told me to tell you that he had already talked with your mom, and that he would see you next time you came to the states." My fiancé Kurt told me as I stepped around him and into the kitchen, opening the cupboard and pulling out a bottle of Southern Comfort. Jaime had been my best friend throughout elementary school and college, he could have, no, he should have said goodbye to me himself. One would expect as much from a best friend, "Kate, don't you think that…"
"This bottle hasn't been opened since the night before that man killed Lily. Now that he's about to have successfully killed Mom, might as well have a drink for the old man." I poured myself a glass and sipped the hard liquor, ignoring the look that Kurt was giving me. The straight alcohol was sweet, but burned as it went down. I wasn't sure what was hurting me more, the fact that my mother was dying or the fact that I completely understood the rationality of what was going on and couldn't tell her to not give up.
"Kate, I heard what went on in there. Have faith in your Mom's decision."
"Faith? What the hell is faith? I lost any faith I had a long time ago. She has made up her mind that she is going to die; I can't do anything again, just like with Lily. I can't save anyone." I downed the rest of the glass and reached towards the bottle to poor some more when a heavy hand grasped my wrist and squeezed, shaking the bottle from my grasp so that it fell over on the counter.
"Look at me, Kate." Kurt growled from behind me, turning me around to face him. I avoided his eyes. There was nothing he could do, nothing I could do. It was pointless to fight it. Meaningless.
"Look. At. Me." He forcefully grabbed my chin and pulled it towards him, shaking my head slightly so that I wouldn't avoid his eyes, "If everything you've told me about her is true, it means that she's taking initiative of her own fate and going out with dignity and pride. Now maybe they don't pride that in American culture. Maybe you all would rather fight using any means necessary to scrape any life, even a life of poor quality, out of your decaying bodies, but I would rather see my loved one go out with honor and acceptance of death than fear of it, on their own terms. Wouldn't you?"
In Japanese history there was an ideal called bushido and a part of that was seppuku, ritual suicide. In my understanding, a samurai would take his own life instead of falling at the hands of an enemy in order to preserve his, and by extension his lord's, dignity and honor. Though the tradition wasn't practiced anymore, the idea was still prevalent in the culture, especially where death was concerned. So, Kurt, who was sometimes too Japanese for his own good, was viewing my mother as the honorable samurai not giving into her sickness' hands.
I knew what he said was exactly what my mother was thinking, but was that what I really had a problem with? I wanted my mom to be at peace, but I wanted something else too. I just…I just fucking hated it when everything was so damn confusing! You would think that God would give someone like me a break, but no, no breaks for me.
"I can rationalize everything you just said. I can even go so far as say that if she dies it would be better than having her suffer, but I can't accept it. I can't accept…I dunno what I can't accept about it, I just can't accept it."
"Kate!" Kurt panicked when I fell to my knees and then back onto the floor, my back hitting against the dishwasher rather harshly. I could feel him wrap his arms around me, pulling me into his lap and cradling me in his arms as if I were a little girl. Before I knew it my cheeks were wet, my tears squeezing between the almost nonexistent gap between his chest and my cheek, my hands grabbing him around the neck, my body weeping with me.
"I'm so scared." Raw emotion spilled out with every tear. It didn't feel comfortable. It didn’t feel right. I wanted to take back my actions, my tears, my words, but I couldn't stop clutching onto him and completely exposing myself.
"Kathrin, it's okay to feel afraid. It's okay to feel confused, and it's okay to feel helpless. Everything will turn out the way it is supposed to." Kurt's voice was soothing. Did I believe his words? No. It was too emotional for me, too attached to the situation. I didn't want to feel anything, especially fear, confusion, and helplessness.
"It's not supposed to happen this way. I've prepared myself for it so long that I can't accept it. I've told myself that it would be one more year, one more year, one more year. Now that that year is over I can't face it." I nuzzled my nose into him, his chest muffling my words as I choked them out through the tears. What was it I couldn't face? I was suffering because there was a wall placed between my heart and my head. I understood all of this, everything Kurt and Mom had said, and I could rationalize it and keep my distance. Yet, something inside of me didn't want to accept death because it meant that something else was being taken away from me, and I could do nothing to stop it. I was crying now because those two ideas were in competition with one another, and I wanted to choke the life out of the last one. Too emotional. Too attached.
"Kathrin. You don't have to face it alone."
IIIII
"Come here you little bitch!" He screamed at me as I tried to run from him, but he caught me. He caught me by the wrist, wrenching it in his hand that was so much larger and more powerful than mine.
"Mommy! Mommy!" I screamed towards Mom. She was bleeding, laying in the kitchen, not moving. He slammed his hand over my face to shut me up. I did what I could do; I bit his hand and ran back inside.
"Katie, over here!" Lily whispered to me from somewhere. Slowly the coat closet door opened and I saw Lily's small arm peek out, waving towards where I was standing. Without even thinking I opened the door and squeezed myself inside and, before I knew it, Lily had grabbed me around the middle and buried her face in my chest. I could feel her salty tears through my shirt, "I'm scared Katie. Why's Daddy doing this? Help me." Her little voice cried into me. I had to protect her. I couldn't protect Mom. I looked down at where his knife had bit me too, down on the wrist. It hurt, but it didn't matter as I began stroking Lily's head, my blood mixing in with her blond hair.
"There you are, both of you. Nice work, bitch." He smiled as he opened the closet and grabbed both Lily and me by the hair, dragging the two of us out. I struggled, smacking the hand that was latched onto Lily's hair. Maybe if I could hit it enough times he would let go of her, and she could run away.
"Daddy! What's wrong? Why are you doing this? Daddy!" Lily screamed as the man got us both outside. I stopped hitting him for a moment, my eyes transfixed on his face. He wasn't Daddy anymore. He was a monster. I tried to start struggling again when I felt my face smash into the water of the pool. It felt like a thousand needles were stabbing me all over. I heard Lily scream beside me. No! I wanted to scream. Don't swallow the water! I wanted to tell her, but if I opened my mouth then I would suck in the cold liquid too. I tried to struggle, but I could feel the man's hand firmly on the back of my neck. I had seen our cat do that to her kittens when they needed a bath. This was different though.
"Katwie" No Lily! Don't talk underneath the water. I heard her call my name and I looked over, seeing her eyes plead with me for help. All I could do was fling my hand out to grab hers and squeeze. She grasped mine back, but only for a second. Then I felt her grip slacken, so I screamed and kicked. It didn't matter now, all I needed to do was get away so that I could get her out. Mom had taught me CPR when I was ten, I knew what to do. If only I could get away. If only I could get out of his hands I could save her, but it was getting harder to move and my chest hurt. Mommy! Mommy it hurts!
IIIII
"Kate. Aw, hell. Kate!" I was shaken awake by Kurt. I didn't even remember getting in bed at all. I just remembered sitting on the floor in his arms. I was still in his arms, my head on his arm and the rest of my body falling between his legs. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he had stayed up all night watching over me. I could feel fresh tears start running down my face. Fuck this. I really thought I had cried out half my body weight in water by this point.
I sat up and wiped the trace of water from my face, turning around and forcing a smile, "I'm fine. Just a bad dream."
"Kate. Don't lie to me." Kurt had gotten up and turned me to face him, the same way he did the night before. I turned and walked away from him, going towards the drawers and pulling out a pair of socks, heading back to the bed to put them on.
"Do you know if Mom is up?"
"Kate."
"Would you mind running to the grocery store to pick up a few things for breakfast? Mom's keys should be on the table by the door. You remember how to get there right?"
"Kathrin Joy Ame…"
"We only have bread in the house for breakfast. Man cannot live by carbohydrates alone, complex or otherwise." I shook my finger at him. Kurt glared at me for a few seconds before grabbing his wallet and walking out the door. I heard the keys scrape the table out in the hall and the outside door open. With a sigh I hung my head between my knees, placing my head in my hands. Heaving another gigantic sigh I stood up and walked to Mom's room and knocked on the road.
"Well it's about time, Kathrin." I couldn't help but feel relieved when I heard her voice and saw her face as I opened the door. She didn't look good. Her normal pink skin was tinted gray, and her eyes didn't seem to focus well enough on me, cloudy as they were, "Darlin' you look like you slept on a pincushion all night. I thought that Jap was gonna take care of my lil girl. He promised me so early this morning."
"You talked to Kurt this morning?" I moved a chair over by her bed and sat in it. She reached out and set her hand on top of mine, stroking it with her fingers.
"I only tol' him 'e needed to watch o'er my lil, Kathrin, and that if you two are sleepin' together that he should make an honest woman out uh ya. Even in the afterlife I ain't gonna be ready for a grandchil' out uh wedlock."
"Mom!" I turned my face, trying to hide a blush. She closed one of her eyes, leaving the other one open with the eyebrow lifted. It was her 'I caught someun in the cookie jar again, didn't I?' look, and I never liked it, even now.
"Now, be honest with your momma. You 'ad one of those nasty dreams last night, about your father? You 'ave one every time we see one another. Truly, it makes me a bit depressed." Mom took her hand off of mine and crossed her arms in front of her chest, breaking eye contact with my face, raising her nose to the ceiling as if she were a Parisian walking her poodle.
"He's not my father."
"Bull-crap. 'E's as much your father as 'e is my ex-husband." That was pretty much as close as my mother got to uttering a single curse word, but it carried its weight when she said it, "I went to that prison last week and talked to your father. Now don't you scowl at me like that, Kathrin. I needed to make peace with him. You need to do it too. Once you forgive him, you can start workin' on forgivin' yourself. Now I toll you not to scowl at me like that."
"Why should I forgive him?" There was no reason too. I just needed to live and let live. He was on death row; he wouldn't be alive much longer; he didn't deserve it.
"I let go years ago. This was jus; the last step for me so that I can move on with no anger in my heart and no regrets. Thas's all. Ya need to do it too. Y'are one of the most intelligent people that I know, but sometimes that just makes you more thick-headed. Dagnabit, can we get me off of these here machines; they are drivin' me crazy"
"Mom, they need the machines to monitor how you're doing. Stop being so stubborn."
"Kathrin, please, let me spend my last day with my daughter in peace, without the annoyin' beep beep beep soundin' off like a ticking clock. Clock's already tickin,' and I don' need no darn reminder." She gave me the 'cookie-jar' look again, so I got up and turned off the machines. I could immediately tell that the machine was helping her do more than stay away. He breathing slowed, and at every exhale there was a small wheeze. Granted there had always been a wheeze because she had grown up in the south, but this was different.
"Darlin', do y'all remember the day ya came home from school so frustrated because ya couldn't use a semicolon." I chuckled as I sat back down. I did remember that day. It was in middle school, probably when I was about thirteen or fourteen, and my teacher had spent the entire afternoon re-teaching the class grammar because no one knew the correct way to use a comma or a semicolon.
"I was heartbroken because I loved English so much, and I had always been taught that you put commas when you breathe."
"But you had never experienced a semicolon in anythin' other than the book you'd read."
"And you said, 'Kathrin, just think of it this way. A semicolon is as strong as a period, but it never signifies the end, only a new beginning. Like the calm before the storm, or the breath before a sigh. Then you carried the metaphor too far."
"We'll, I'm your mother, ain't I? I 'ave to teach you life principles and it's never easy to just sit a chil' down and tell them the ways of the world. It stuck though, didn't it."
Of course it stuck. I'm a linguist now, you can't just forget everything you learn about semicolons when your career goal is based on language. I remembered what she said to me then. She said 'you can have semicolon joys, semicolon fears, and even semicolon blues, but all those things just lead up to a finish because there is no end to life's semicolons, just like there isn't an end to life's beginnings. You may put a period on the end, but that just means you're ready to start another sentence'
"I didn't understand that then." I sighed, brushing a strand of blondish gray hair out of her sweat laden face.
"Do ya now, Kathrin?"
"I…I don't know." The truth is that I did. It was the same idea as the metaphor of life being a book and all the chapters' different parts. You might end the chapter, but the book keeps going until there is nothing more to write, until death took you away.
"Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out someday. I want you to promise me somethin, Kathrin. Hush-up and listen while I'm talkin' to you," She uttered her preemptive strike at my interruptions. I never liked her promises. They were difficult to follow through with and always taught some profound lesson. It was more tiring than fulfilling.
"Alright. But only that one, you got it?" I pointed my finger at her, making her smile as she rearranged herself on the bed, a painful wheeze coming from her.
I wan' ya to call your Father. I gave your man the phone numbuh of the prison so that ya don' tear it up or anything.' If ya don' call 'im I promise to haunt you until ya do." Mom reached out a shaking hand and dotted me on the nose with one of her fingers. It was cold, almost like ice. I nodded. I wasn't going to promise out loud, and by her smile she seemed to think I was good for my word. I usually was, but calling that monster was not on my top ten list of things to do, "Kathrin, come up here with your momma for a little bit. I wanna hear ya sing our song. Ya still remember it, don' ya?"
"How could I forget?" I faked a smile as I climbed into bed with her and laid my head on her chest. It was even easier to feel how frail she had become when I was holding onto her. Her heart was barely pumping, and I could hear gurgling in her lungs. No! It was too soon.
"Well, get on with it then." I felt her weakly kiss the top of my head, and I forced back tears. It's nearly impossible to sing when you're crying.
"'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." The tears started now, and I heard a breath catch in Mom's throat. I wanted to look up at her face, but as soon as I tried I felt her grasp around me tighten.
"Kathrin. I love you so much, lil girl. I am so proud of you." I clutched onto her tighter, my hands creating star-shaped wrinkles in the fabric of her nightdress, as the dam holding back my tears collapsed.
"You'll," beat beat beat "never know, dear," beat….beat….beat…"how much I" beat…beat…"love you" beat…."please don't take my sunshine" beat… "away."
Silence. I looked over at the heart meter, the straight line glaring back at me viciously, I buried my head into her, trying to find any warmth that I could.
"I love you, Mommy."
And she was gone.
Monday, April 18, 2011
F**kin' Perfect
"But you, O you/ so perfect and so peerless, are created/ Of every creature's best!" - The Tempest
Apparently, there has been some controversy surrounding the video for P!nk's new music video for her song "F**kin Perfect." There are images of sexuality, anorexia, and self-mutilation along with a sleuth of other images of a young girl being neglected by her peers and berated by her parents. Having struggled with quite a few of these myself, I appreciate a contemporary mainstream artist who isn't afraid of ruffling the tail-feathers of the "politically correct."
On her website P!nk defended her music video by saying "My favourite books, art pieces, films, and music, always have something jarring about them. I want art to make me think. In order to do that, it may piss me off, or make me uncomfortable." I can certainly relate to this. Just because something is uncomfortable doesn't mean that is isn't, well, perfect.
Perhaps it is in these most uncomfortable moments that we are truely challenged to be who we really are--not who other people expect and tell us to be. It is in these moments that we sometimes come to realize how imperfect we really are. Perfection is something that we, as humans, seem so detached from. Even geometric perfection doesn't exist. No snowflake is the same, roots are gnarled, the sun is always a day older, and even buildings built after eons of mental and physical labor are missing a few screws. Yet, P!nk's song has a different suggestion: "Pretty, pretty, please. Don't you ever, ever feel like your less then fuckin' perfect. Pretty, pretty, please. If you ever, ever feel like your nothin', you're fuckin' perfect to me."
One of the last images in the video is of the main character waking up, nuzzling out from the grasp of the man sleeping beside her, and walking down the hall to her daughter's room. This last image, of the love of a mother, is probably the least controversial and the most powerful. Though this little girl will mess up, though she may face the same kind of trials and triumphs her mother faced, she is still perfect in the eyes of someone who cares for her.
Human beings aren't perfect in the dictionary sense of the word. We aren't all the same, we're gnarled (not just talking about bed-head), we're always getting older, and even after mental and physical labor we are still missing a few screws. Yet, to someone, despite all our imperfections, we are perfect. Not perfect in the traditional sense, but still...still perfect.
If you want to watch the video, here is the link. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4Rax2PXiWA
Apparently, there has been some controversy surrounding the video for P!nk's new music video for her song "F**kin Perfect." There are images of sexuality, anorexia, and self-mutilation along with a sleuth of other images of a young girl being neglected by her peers and berated by her parents. Having struggled with quite a few of these myself, I appreciate a contemporary mainstream artist who isn't afraid of ruffling the tail-feathers of the "politically correct."
On her website P!nk defended her music video by saying "My favourite books, art pieces, films, and music, always have something jarring about them. I want art to make me think. In order to do that, it may piss me off, or make me uncomfortable." I can certainly relate to this. Just because something is uncomfortable doesn't mean that is isn't, well, perfect.
Perhaps it is in these most uncomfortable moments that we are truely challenged to be who we really are--not who other people expect and tell us to be. It is in these moments that we sometimes come to realize how imperfect we really are. Perfection is something that we, as humans, seem so detached from. Even geometric perfection doesn't exist. No snowflake is the same, roots are gnarled, the sun is always a day older, and even buildings built after eons of mental and physical labor are missing a few screws. Yet, P!nk's song has a different suggestion: "Pretty, pretty, please. Don't you ever, ever feel like your less then fuckin' perfect. Pretty, pretty, please. If you ever, ever feel like your nothin', you're fuckin' perfect to me."
One of the last images in the video is of the main character waking up, nuzzling out from the grasp of the man sleeping beside her, and walking down the hall to her daughter's room. This last image, of the love of a mother, is probably the least controversial and the most powerful. Though this little girl will mess up, though she may face the same kind of trials and triumphs her mother faced, she is still perfect in the eyes of someone who cares for her.
Human beings aren't perfect in the dictionary sense of the word. We aren't all the same, we're gnarled (not just talking about bed-head), we're always getting older, and even after mental and physical labor we are still missing a few screws. Yet, to someone, despite all our imperfections, we are perfect. Not perfect in the traditional sense, but still...still perfect.
If you want to watch the video, here is the link. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4Rax2PXiWA
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Chorus...
"Oh for a muse of fire..." - Henry V
Indeed, I am going to try this blog thing. I've actually had a plethora of blogs before, and I have ended up deleting all of them. Mostly it's because I don't keep up, no one subscribes, or I end up philosophizing instead of being amusing. All of these end up leading me to delete it or, as is the case with my most recent blog, it disappears from my mind, forgotten and probably hidden in the same dimension that socks travel to when they suddenly escape from the dryer. Needless to say, I'm going to try this again.
Now to address the title, I have to say that this is less of a title and more of a warning. I am generally preoccupied with Shakespeare, William Shakespeare, and as such will probably be referencing him often. I am also somewhat of a sadist (not the type that will force bad things to happen out of some sick perversion, but who perversely finds it interesting if not humorous when bad things happen). I assure all of you that I am not a sociopath--by no means--but I do enjoy a good battle between bones and a chainsaw once in a while. Kidding!
To be completely honest, I don't really know what this will turn out to be, which I guess is fitting and ironic considering I entitled this entry "Chorus," and a Chorus of a drama is meant to tell the audience what to expect. How can I expect to warn you what to expect when I don't even know what to expect myself--hence the irony I suppose.
Indeed, I am going to try this blog thing. I've actually had a plethora of blogs before, and I have ended up deleting all of them. Mostly it's because I don't keep up, no one subscribes, or I end up philosophizing instead of being amusing. All of these end up leading me to delete it or, as is the case with my most recent blog, it disappears from my mind, forgotten and probably hidden in the same dimension that socks travel to when they suddenly escape from the dryer. Needless to say, I'm going to try this again.
Now to address the title, I have to say that this is less of a title and more of a warning. I am generally preoccupied with Shakespeare, William Shakespeare, and as such will probably be referencing him often. I am also somewhat of a sadist (not the type that will force bad things to happen out of some sick perversion, but who perversely finds it interesting if not humorous when bad things happen). I assure all of you that I am not a sociopath--by no means--but I do enjoy a good battle between bones and a chainsaw once in a while. Kidding!
To be completely honest, I don't really know what this will turn out to be, which I guess is fitting and ironic considering I entitled this entry "Chorus," and a Chorus of a drama is meant to tell the audience what to expect. How can I expect to warn you what to expect when I don't even know what to expect myself--hence the irony I suppose.
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