Night Disturbances

Last night, a virtual parade

Promenaded through my tired brain

Stealing sleep like a pirate raid

Leaving me decidedly wane

 

Sense dulled by the midnight noise

Eyes red-rimmed like a circus fool

Death’s door beckons like children’s toys

Worried about next day at school

 

Fury propelled me from my bed

Like water gushing from a pipe

A flow of words inside my head

Weapons armed for a deadly swipe

 

Dragons swooped through darkened air

Flights of fancy in staccato beat

Threatening me with deep despair

Weakened, I accept true defeat

 

Carry me to thy private lair

Gently lay me on table bare

Rub silken ashes in my hair

Caress away every care

 

Worry me not with ebbing tide

Speak of romance deep and wide

Touch my soul burning red inside

Tonight I’ll be your special bride

 

 

A Tentative Hold

Despair disrobes my aching soul

Twisting me into nothingness

Stealing my solitary goal

Filling me with dire hopelessness

 

I cling to pleasant memories

Striving to erase my own pain

Fighting against complexities

That confuse my poor little brain

 

Hopelessness outweighs all pleasure

Crashing me into thick steel walls

Shielding me from golden treasure

Blinding my eyes to pleading calls

 

My life is pettily pointless

Of what use is continued fight?

To die, I must nevertheless

Today, no; and please not tonight

 

With a glimpse over my shoulder

I do catch Your glorious face

Floating, like a granite boulder

Uncomfortably out of place

 

Is there some hope? Will I survive?

With Your strong arms carrying me

I do believe that I may thrive

To express creativity

 

Hopelessness is driven away

Which cleanses my still burning soul

Nothingness chooses not to stay

I rejoice and set a new goal.

 

Railroad Calling

The rails are calling me

Clickety-clack

I’m yearning to be free

Never look back

 

Black engine rolls along

Puffing my name

Grunting and groaning strong

As in fame

 

Cities, fields, and hills fly by

Magical blur

Free as a bird, I cry

Contented purr

 

Look outside!  See new things

Happiness abounds

Wonderful offerings

Mystical sounds

 

Engine picks up the pace

Fly, fly away

Wind blows against my face

Feeling quite gay

 

My heart echoes the sound

Of wheels on track

Knows I’ll not be around

Take a new tack.

 

I’m yearning to be free

Clickety-clack

The rails are calling me

Never look back.

Empty Nest Syndrome at Last

We heard about the syndrome from the time our first son was born. According to the reports, we would cry each time one of our kids began Kindergarten. It didn’t happen because we rejoiced at the opportunities opened to learn and socialize.

Leaving elementary didn’t upset us either. Or graduating from high school. As each of them went away to college leaving behind empty beds, we did feel a bit of loneliness. At the same time, however, they were learning to make important life decisions as they grew into the adults they are now.

What helped was that a variety of four-legged animals lived with us, beginning in 1975 shortly after we bought our house. Lucky Lady, a Dalmatian, was our first of many. She was so smart that she blew us away with all she understood and could do. When Tim was born in 1976 she became his protector, staying by his side no matter where he was. After learning to jump the fence, she hips went bad. She was in tremendous pain, so the decision was hard, but not impossible.

When Lady was still alive we brought home Scamp, an Australian shepherd puppy mix who was so timid that she hid under furniture. Lady died making Scamp the only dog until a large dog appeared in our garage as I was folding laundry. My friend Penny told me she was part wolf. We believed her because she had an independent streak and often took off down the street. We called her Babe for Paul Bunyan’s big blue ox. Unfortunately Babe and Scamp had a bit of a mix-up, Scamp’s paw got injured and never healed. Scamp had bone cancer. Babe was now the only dog.

Babe developed mange, a nasty, sticking patch on her backside. No medications helped. It grew and grew and made her miserable. Then her hips went out. I had to pick up this huge dog and get her in the house. When Mike came home from work we knew what decision had to be made.

For a bit of time we had not dog, but helping my friend Penny search for a new dog, we found a cute puppy at the pound. He was part Border collie. We put in our names as potential adoptees and won. MacTavish was very sick, dying actually. Penny taught us how to force feed him. Because of her he grew into an incredibly awesome dog.

His quirky personality kept us jumping. He outsmarted us every day. When Mike retired Mac was his constant companion.

When Mac was recovering he became quite lonely. He needed something to keep him busy so I also adopted a Spaniel from a different pound. Majesty was not the easiest dog to live with. She was stubborn and didn’t take to training. Fortunately Mac let her boss him around.

Both lived to be in their teens. Majesty lost her sight and hearing and her ability to control her bowels. Mac’s hips went out. It was sad losing them both.

When Tim was about three he found a stray cat at church that he wanted to take home. We told him that if she was there the next day, he could have her. Tim made us go to church early. The cat was there, clearly hungry. Tim held her during mass while I sat on the steps with him. He called her Cupcake Eater Connelly. Cuppie was kind and gentle. She tolerated kids.

After Cuppie was getting up in years, a new neighbor moved in next door and got a chow. Cuppie was used to going over the fence. Had never been threatened. The neighbor let the chow out just as Cuppie went over the fence. He didn’t know it was our cat so failed to tell us. A week later when Cuppie still had not appeared, I asked the neighbor. He was embarrassed and offered to buy us a new cat.

Cuppie was not our only cat at the time because when Christine was in fourth grade, she chose a tortoiseshell calico cat, named Cali. Cali rode across Christine’s shoulders. She wasn’t the smartest cat we’ve owned, but she was sweet. She was still alive after Christine graduated from college, got married and had Emily. One time when they were visiting I looked out back and saw little Emily carrying Cali by the tail. Cali did not scratch or fight. Amazing.

Josie appeared shortly after Cali died. Mike was changing into hiking boots to go camping when a tiny kitten walked out of his closet. How did she get there?  We never knew, but we accepted her into our home. Josie was sweet and loving.

When Josie was getting old, I was at a pet food store on adoption day. There were tuxedo sisters up for adoption. Two for the price of one. They were named Violet and Lavendar, but we called them Missy and something else. The problem was that Mike left the door open on their second day in our house. Missy stayed but the other ran away. We never got her back.

Missy filled Josie’s paw prints when Josie died. Missy was the kind of cat you could pick up and carry around. She’d sit on your lap forever. She loved being brushed. Great purr. But she fell ill a few years late just before we were heading to Tim and Kate’s house back east. We left her at the vet’s. He called us. Kidney failure.

That meant no cats left. But…the vet knew someone who rescued cats and she just happened to have siblings ready for adoption. When we got home that woman brought over the cats. Both were short-hair, heads and bodies shaped somewhat like a Siamese. Both ran and hid under our bed.

We couldn’t get the female out, so the woman returned and took her back home. The boy named Taffy stayed because he was curious and wanted to explore. We changed his name to Tuffy.

A few years after Tuffy moved in I heard that someone had a Maine Coon cat up for adoption. I went to see her at a per store. She was incredibly placid. Long fir that would need brushing. Long, pointed ears. And huge!  I picked her up and almost dropped her.

In a cage near her was a thin pure black cat. I’d never wanted a black cat, but this little guy was spunky. He pushed a toy through the bars. I picked it up and stuffed it inside. He immediately pushed it through then looked at me with huge eyes. I fell in love. His name was Coal. He was a lap-sitter. He loved petting and curling up. He was smart and gentle.

Tuffy, at this point, was still somewhat aloof. He allowed Coal to sit in laps and absorb all loving. Tuffy preferred being outside. He was born feral, and we both assumed that even though he’d been rescued young, that wildness was still there.

Coal fell ill. He cried when touched. The vet discovered that his chest was filled with fluid. For some bizarre reason we paid for expensive treatments which failed. The day we brought Coal home he died before we walked through the door.

Tuffy was now the only cat, the only four-legged critter. He slowly took over the job of sitting in laps, rubbing legs, begging for food. His personality changed. He was no longer aloof, but a big lover.

We knew he would be the last. We love to travel, our kids don’t live nearby, and we’re getting older. It wouldn’t be fair to bring an animal into our home knowing that our kids would someday have to decide what to do with it. Therefor no more dogs or cats.

For the first time since 1975 we have no critters roaming about. No fur on the floor or sticking to the furniture. No fur on my black pants or clumping on my sleeves. No clicking of toenails on the wood floors. No one greeting me when I come home. No one staring forlornly through the sliding glass door out back. No meows or barks. No treats. No food to put in bowls and no water to be refreshed.

It’s weird and a bit lonely.

Our house, however, is till filled with noise.

Somewhere along the way after our kids had all gone off to college I decided to return to being a bird keeper. Before I met Mike I had had two cages of parakeets that I spoiled rotten, but by the time we got married they had all died.

One day, for some strange reason, I read the want ads and saw lovebirds and cockatiels for sale. Before I called, I visited a pet store and looked at both types. The lovebirds were small and had a very loud screech. The cockatiels were bigger, but quiet. I checked out books from the library and read about the care of both.

Convinced that cockatiels would be the best, I called and made an appointment to see them one day after school. Yes, there were differences in size and in appearance. The cockatiels were huge, had feathers that stuck up over their heads giving them a regal look, and were fairly calm. They didn’t startle when the young man put his hand in the cage.

The lovebirds were beautiful. They had orange patches on their cheeks and deep green plumage. They were far from regal because they screeched and fought back. They exhibited a personality that intrigued me. I brought them home.

After that first pair I saw an ad for another, only $40 for both birds and cage. They were young and turned out to be a mating couple. Before long we had a clutch of eggs. Fortunately they didn’t hatch, but the next two clutches did. We kept two of the baby birds and found homes for the rest.

Another ad inspired me to buy two cockatiels. They were not tame and never would be. They were quiet, which was fine as the lovebird screeches filled our house with sound. They were so big that I had to buy a special cage. A huge cage!

This was my third cage, but I didn’t mind because I loved them. It took a lot of work to keep the cages clean. As the birds died off, I went down to two cages, then more recently one.

I decided that the lovebirds were lonely and I’d always wanted black-faced lovebirds, so I bought two. One died in the first week. Eventually one of the cockatiels died, so then I moved an older lovebird in with the remaining cockatiel and the one black faced lovebird, Rolo.

Rolo was a character. He understood my commands. He didn’t speak, but when I told him to go home, he returned to the cage. I never tamed him but he knew when I was around.

He died a few weeks ago.

All we have left now is a sixteen year old lovebird. She could die any day, but right now she’s quite happy being alone. She sings all day long. She’s mean, though, When I stick my hand in to change food or water she attacks.

Once she dies, there will be no more birds. No cages to clean, no seed to buy, no toys to rotate.

At that point our house will be empty of animals with no intent of bringing new in to take their places.

Perhaps then we will experience empty nest syndrome in all its manifestations. Or maybe we’ll be content with the memories of all the dogs, cats, birds, and oh yes, lest I forget, the tropical fish that moved into the house with us 46 years ago.

I realize that it will be just another stage in my life, and for that reason, I am not saddened as I look into the future.

Our nest will not truly be empty as we will have each other and all the spirits of the many critters that we were blessed to have. We have wonderful adult kids and their significant others. We have talented grandchildren that we don’t get to see enough of, but we know they are a long drive away.

We have been blessed in many ways. Our home has been filled with love both given and received. God has found ways to be with us. He will continue to do so.

New Day Delivers

bubbles of brilliant blue

burst through the blossom-like

clouds

bringing much yearned-for

brightness to an

otherwise gloomy world

shrugging off stormy thoughts

seers sought soft,

sumptuous caresses

strips of comfort

seeping into the marrow

of the heart

comfort casually ceases

to tempt the carefree

cajoling them into

caroling loudly

coronation carols of the newborn

day

floating ferociously among

the now-frivolous clouds

freeborn fools giggle

with felt delight

first-time believers in

the flight of the soul

rejoice riotously with

royal revelation

as reborn receivers

rise with rejuvenated wings

weightless, wish-filled

centers re-calibrated

the new day

enfolds

    All things Must End

Dreamers navigate their way

through shadows deep and dark,

searching for the light of morning,

as they march across dry deserts

 

or over towering mountain peaks

crowned by heavenly angels

whose glittery gossamer wings

flutter fleetingly in a gentle breeze

 

brushing the sleeper’s cheek

as lightly as mother once did,

helping to climb the ladder

of delicious dreams toward

 

a blushing sky, streaked

orange, pink, and baby blue

as the sun, ever so slowly,

rises to greet the morning

 

shirking off terrifying nightmares

of hideous monsters, demons, sprites

or relishing romantic love stories

sung by twinkling firelight

 

in a lover’s embrace,

broken most unwillingly only

to greet the dawn of day,

without thinking, without choosing,

 

unable to stop the inevitable

awakening as all must for

dreamers’ dreams must end.

The Teacher’s Report

Mrs. Adams gripped a math test, correcting mistake after mistake.  Her oversized glasses slipped down her nose making it difficult for her to see the backwards numbers. Even after pushing them back into place, the child’s writing didn’t become any clearer.

She picked up another paper, placed marks here and there, sighing as she worked. The next paper, that of Shelly Winters, was one hundred percent correct. Mrs. Adams wrote a giant Excellent at the top in purple ink.

A smile crossed her face until she saw the next paper in the pile: Billy Chalmers. Something about that boy made her curly gray hair stand on end. She tried to like him, but it was difficult.

With furrowed brow she found Billy slumped in his desk chair. She sighed, knowing that his paper would be riddled with errors. She hated using all that red ink. No matter how many corrections she made, Billy made no improvement.

Mrs. Adams was not known to be kind. Her reputation was one of distributing cruel remarks and harsh with punishment toward those who offended her sensibilities. This was not a good quality in a second grade teacher. In fact, her personality worked in reverse: her students did not prosper and none of them developed a love of learning while in her classroom.

Students learned because they were terrified of the scathing words that signified Mrs. Adams’ displeasure.  She never smiled, never offered praise or compliments on work well done.  There was never any laughter in her classroom: students were to be seated quietly, at all times.

The only student who seemed to escape criticism was little Shelly. She was a bright, pleasant child, always clean and neatly dressed. Her mother was also the School Board President which was probably why Mrs. Adams never directed her wrath at the child.

Billy was not so lucky. His nose poured no matter the season. His clothes were torn and faded, his shoes had holes in the soles. His hair was greasy tangles that fell below his ears. Breath? Repulsive. There was nothing about Billy that motivated her to want to teach him. In fact, he repelled and disgusted her.

So when Mrs. Adams looked about the classroom and finding the student she sought, she commanded, “William Chalmers, come here immediately!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Billy said as he shuffled to the front of the room.  As he stood next to his teacher’s desk, his downcast eyes begged for kindness..

“The answer to question number three is incorrect.  Go back and fix it,” Mrs. Adams rumbled.  She thrust Billy’s paper into his face, then without a word of encouragement waved him off and then returned to correcting the remaining tests.

Billy did not leave the side of her desk.  Despite his fear of angering her, Billy mumbled, “But I don’t know the answer.”

“What did you say, young man?”

“I don’t know the answer, Mrs. Adams.”

She stared at Billy as she put down the pile of tests and picked up her spanking ruler in one svelte move. His eyes widened as the ruler rose far over his head, then came down with lightning speed on his left shoulder, striking with so much force that Billy fell to the floor.

“Get up off that floor, Mr. Chalmers, and quit sniveling.” She watched as a tearful Billy pushed himself into a standing position, picked up his now wrinkled paper, and turned toward his desk.  “Do not approach this desk until you have completed the assignment.”

She did not see the tears coursing down his face, or the embarrassed flush to his cheeks.  Her focus had returned to the remaining tests, resuming her glower as she scanned each one.

By the time Billy was seated his tears of pain had turned to tears of anger. “I hate Mrs. Adams.  I hate Mrs. Adams.  I hate Mrs. Adams,” Billy mumbled over and over.  He could barely see the numbers on the paper through his tears, but he picked up his pencil and erased his previous calculations.  He reworked the problems, getting the same wrong answers.  So he did them again, and again, and again, checking the clock now and then hoping that the time to go home would soon arrive.

After the fifth attempt Billy was pretty sure he had the right answer, so he sheepishly walked to his teacher’s desk and handed her the paper.  She said not a word as she took the paper from his outstretched hand. Not expecting anything other than an insult, he simply returned to his desk and sat silently, like all his classmates.

“Students,” Mrs. Adams screeched, interrupting the strained silence.  “Please put away your pencils and books.”  In unison all desktops opened, materials were put away, and tops were gently closed.  “Stand.”  Mrs. Adams pushed her bulky body out of her chair, stood, and walked slowly down Billy’s row until she stood next to his desk.  “Give this note to your parents when you get home,” she barked as she handed Billy an envelope.

“Yes, Mrs. Adams,” Billy sniveled.

“Class dismissed.”

Billy streamed out of the room as his classmates joined the throngs pouring into the hall, and out the front door.  He walked the blocks home behind a couple of boys who lived on the same block.

When he got to his house, without saying goodbye, Billy walked in the door.  His dad was in the kitchen, cutting celery into tiny pieces.  He smiled when he saw his son.

“Hi, Billy.  Did you have a good day today?”

“No. Mrs. Adams doesn’t like me.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Adams likes all her students,” he said as he scraped the pieces into a bowl.

“Then why was I the only one she yelled at?”

As he added in cream of celery soup, his dad said, “Maybe she’s trying to help you learn.”

“If she wanted me to learn, she’d be nicer,” Billy said, brightening for the first time that day. “I liked First grade a lot.  I did real well because my teacher made things fun.”

“School isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“But if Mrs. Adams smiled it would be better.”

“That’s the way it is, Billy.  You don’t always get nice teachers.  Mrs. Adams is a good teacher.  Her students always get the best awards.”

“Oh,” Billy said as he handed his dad the envelope. “She sent this note home.  I think she wants you to call.” Billy stood nervously rubbing his left shoe on top of his right one while his dad opened the envelope.

Mr. Chalmers pulled out a folded piece of binder paper.  He looked it over carefully.  A huge smile lit his eyes as he said, “Congratulations!  You got an A+ on this Math test! You should hang this on the refrigerator for your mom to see when she gets home.”

Disbelievingly, Billy took the paper from his dad.  Written in purple ink at the top of the page was not only the grade, but also a huge happy face.  Billy held his paper as if it were made of fine china, pulled a magnet from off the refrigerator door, and pinned his paper in place.

He skipped outside to the back yard where he ran in circles screaming, “Yes!” as he pumped his fists into the air.

 

A Simple Thought

A golden leaf

Fluttered

To the ground.

Rested.

Crumbled into dust.

Nourished a lowly worm.

Fed a garden of flowers.

And was reborn in a burst of color.

Life goes on.

One being nurtures another,

Giving sustenance

Reassurance

Love.

The circle must be unbroken

Or all will perish

Learning Curve

She’d always heard that Catholic girls go wild when they enter college, but she didn’t believe it. That didn’t mean that Jessie wouldn’t wonder what would happen once her classes began in the fall. Would she adhere to the morals and values she’d had drilled into her head? Or would she date recklessly, use drugs and drink until sloppy drunk?

On her first day at Chabot College Jessie stepped on campus with her nerves a tingle. Everywhere she looked were couples walking hand-in-hand with serene looks on their faces, while others sat on benches, walls and lawns, with arms and legs entwined. A few leaned against trees with lips locked and bodies pressed firmly against one another.

Which would she be? A wanton hussy? A tender lover? A lonely spinster? All she knew and hoped was that someone, some nice young man would find her interesting. Years ago she had reconciled herself that, because she wasn’t pretty, not even comely, but a frumpy, old-lady-like ultra conservative spinster, she would be single for the rest of her life.

Jessie learned the names of her classmates. The easiest to know were the outspoken types who knew everything and wanted their voices to be the only ones heard. The most challenging were the silent, but giggly cheerleader-types with skinny bodies, lanky legs and long hair well past shoulders. There were some like Jessie, not many, with limp hair, blotchy complexions and puffy bodies, and they were the ones who always sat alone. She thought about joining them, but realized that even at her current age you were still defined by your friends. She was socially awkward, but didn’t want to hang out with her kind. She wanted to establish a new identity: that of a smart, datable woman.

Months passed. Despite using her mother-taught sewing skills she created more fashionable clothes, nothing changed in her social status. Day after day Jessie ate alone, walked alone, spent study hours alone in the library or in some quiet alcove. While her life was unaltered, that of her classmates changed. Pregnancies blossomed as winter neared. Were those the wanton hussies she’d heard about? Catholic girls gone wild?

Jessie wanted to feel what it was like to be held in a tight embrace, to be kissed tenderly, passionately, until her body responded in the way she’d read about in books. Maybe not to the point of losing her virginity, but it would be nice to come close.

Second semester a George Atwood sat next to her in Advanced Calculus. He was a good-looking guy, but not what you’d call handsome. Not built like a football player with broad shoulders, but more like a golfer. He smiled at her and said hi every class period.

One day he slipped her a note like kids did in high school. When Jessie opened hers she discovered a quiz which George must have copied from a magazine. He had listed a variety of activities and placed a box in front of each. She was supposed to check all those she liked and then return the note.

This was exciting! A man was interested in her!

Jessie checked off bowling, walking, reading, movies. She didn’t know what spelunking was and didn’t like going underwater, so diving and snorkeling were out. She didn’t want to swim because she was ashamed of her lumpy body. She did mark sports because she enjoyed playing soccer, baseball and had bowled for many years, and she loved watching almost any sport on television.

When George arrived the next day  Jessie slid the note to him, then waited to see his reaction. His face remained blank, his focus on the professor.

Jessie’s heart was broken before it ever had the chance to fall in love. She sat with downcast eyes, struggling to contain a fountain of tears. Sadness sat on her shoulders like a huge weight.

But after class, instead of rushing out like he usually did, George lingered. He smiled shyly as he rubbed one toe on the carpet. “Want to go on a date?”

Jessie smiled. “Yes.”

Without saying a word, George placed his hand on her back and led her outside the building. “Are you free Saturday?”

She nodded.

“What would you like to do? See a movie? Go bowling? Go for a ride? We could go to Garin Park and hike.”

“Garin Park would be nice,” she said. “I’ve never been there.”

“Great. Do you want me to pick you up or would you prefer to meet there?”

“I don’t have a car, so how about you pick me up? If you tell me what you like to eat, I’ll pack a picnic lunch.”

They exchanged information, then said goodbye. Jessie smiled all through the rest of the day. She smiled on the way home on the bus. But when she walked through the front door, her mother gave her a funny look and then the cross examination began.

“Why’s that smile on your face? What have you done?” her mother demanded.

“Nothing wrong,” Jessie said. “A nice guy asked me on a date. We’re going to Garin Park.” She wasn’t prepared for the snicker that erupted from her mother’s lips.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Any guy who dates you is only looking for one thing and you’d better not give it to him.”

Jessie’s cheeks burned. She knew what her mom was implying and there was no way she was doing that. She’d never been kissed, but she wasn’t so naïve as to not understand the implications of going further. “Nothing’s going to happen. It’s a picnic and a hike. That’s it.”

“I’d better meet him first,” her mother said.

“Don’t worry. He’s picking me up.”

The next two days Jessie worried about what to wear, what to fix for lunch, and what would happen when her parents met George. She’d seen movies where the parents were rude, embarrassing both the daughter and the date. She was sure her parents would be horrendous.

When Saturday arrived, she put on her best jeans and a royal blue Warriors sweatshirt. She brushed her shoulder-length hair a thousand times, convinced that when she was finished, it was smoother and shinier. Jessie fixed ham sandwiches with mayo, tomatoes, pickles, and a slice of Swiss cheese.  She put two cans of soda in a bag along with two chocolate chip cookies she’d made that morning.

Jessie stood by the window, hiding behind the sheer curtains that were supposed to keep prying eyes from spying inside. As the time grew nearer for George to arrive, beads of sweat popped out on her forehead. When ten o’clock arrived and he wasn’t there, Jessie sighed, believing she had been stood up. Just as she turned to go to her room and change into her sweats, a recently washed gray Hyundai Sonata parked in front of her house. George emerged with neatly combed hair, a Chabot College sweatshirt and clean black jeans.

He wasn’t handsome, but pleasant-looking. Jessie’s heart began beating rapidly and she found it hard to breath.

Just as George was reaching for the bell, Jessie opened the door with a smile on her face and then escorted him to the front room where her parent lay in wait. Neither responded to his polite greeting, instead they glowered as if he was evil incarnate.

“So,” her dad said, “why are you taking her on a date?”

George stammered a bit before responding, “Jessie’s nice and smart.”

“But she’s ugly,” her dad said as he shrugged his shoulders. “There’s only one thing a guy would want, and that’s not going to happen.  If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk out and never come back.”

George grabbed Jessie’s hand tightly in his own. “I don’t think of Jessie that way. She’s a friend, someone I’d like to get to know better.” With that, he led her out of the house and into the car. “Wow, that was intense.”

“I’m sorry. I was afraid he would act like that, but I hoped not.”

“Listen,” George said as he drove down Mission Boulevard, “if you’re uncomfortable being with me, we can call this off. I’ll take you back home.”

“No,” she said as she brushed her hand against his arm. “I want to be with you. Really, I do.” She folded her hands primly in her lap and stared at her fingers. “I mean, I should tell you that I’ve never dated before.”

His smile was so perfect, so beautiful that Jessie knew she had made the right choice. “It’s going to be alright,” he said as he paid the fee at the toll booth. “We’re going to have a great time. As friends. Right?’

All went well. They found an empty picnic table right away. George ate everything, even praising the cookies when Jessie said she’d made them. They talked, shared stories, and discussed Calculus problems, which was a bit weird as Jessie’d never talked about schoolwork with a guy before.

“Let’s go for a walk,” George said after they’d stowed the bag in the trunk. “There’s a nice trail that encircles the park. If we’re lucky, we’ll see deer.”

The trail encircled a little pond where dragonflies hovered, their wings gossamer pastel colors. They wound their way into the hills, talking about the blue sky dotted with cumulus clouds and the possibility of rain. About the flowers that in bloom, typical for California. The giant moths and even a herd of cows grazing near an apple orchard.

The further away from the parking lot they got, the fewer people they saw. The branches of trees formed a canopy overhead, cooling the warming air and silencing sounds of insects. When no more people were about, when there were no sounds of laughter, kids playing or conversation, George led Jessie deep into a copse of trees. He leaned against a sturdy trunk and he pulled her to his chest. “I really like you,” he said as he brushed his hand over her hair. “You’re smart and kind and thoughtful.”

“Thanks,” she said as she felt her cheeks turn crimson. “I like you too.”

His breath tickled her neck as he gently kissed her, over and over.

Jessie had never felt loved, not from her parents who had ridiculed her for her whole life, calling her ugly, dumb, stupid, idiot, and many other terms that she preferred not to think about.  There had never been a boyfriend who held her tight and whispered in her ear. Never even a pet cat or dog to cuddle with on long, lonely nights.

George was the first and his words filled her insides, making her feel light as air.

When his lips met hers, she kissed him back. His lips weren’t squishy, but firm. Not too firm. His breath hinted of chocolate chip cookies, a bit sweet but also bitter. His arms enfolded her waist, pulling her into his chest.

She responded in kind, not sure if she was doing it right, but when George intensified the pressure of his lips, Jessie began to question the safety of her situation, nestled in this hidden cove.

She pushed back, trying to put some distance between them, but George pulled her tight against him. He ran his right hand up under her shirt, rubbing her back in circles that at first were soft and enticing, but soon became firm and painful.

“Stop,” she said as she took a step backward. “I don’t like this.”

George increased his grip around her waist until she was smashed against him, barely able to breathe. His hand undid her bra and then moved to her chest.

“Stop. I don’t want this.”

“Yes, you do,” he said. “You must have dreamt about this. I’m going to be your first. You’ll love it.” He bent over and kissed her breasts. His tongue made her insides warm, but at the same time she was repulsed. When his hands went under the waistband of her jeans and began rubbing back and forth, back and forth, she tried again to disengage.

“Stop,” she yelled. Salty tears streamed down her cheeks and along the edges of their compressed lips. Her sobs escaped despite the increased pressure he applied as she planted her hands on his chest and pushed.

A sound from the trail caught his attention and his grip relaxed so that Jessie could step far enough away to pull down her sweatshirt and run toward the parking lot. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she cursed herself for being so stupid as to think he liked her, really liked her for who she was, not what he could take from her.

George followed, whistling a merry tune. No matter how fast Jessie ran, she could hear him. She knew he was there, probably smirking at her stupidity. Her foolishness.

When Jessie reached the parking lot, she realized her mistake: she had no way home. She had no money, so couldn’t call her parents. She wouldn’t do that anyway as it would reinforce their belief in how undesirable she was. How they had told her over and over that no many would marry her, that men would only want her body, not her as a wife.

She ran past George’s car and toward the ranger booth, hoping someone would be inside to rescue her. But it was empty.

Her only choice was to walk down the long hill, but it was a street with no sidewalks, no way to get out of the way of passing cars. She headed that way, hoping that one of the  fast-moving vehicles would sense her plight and stop. None did. In a way, Jessie was relieved because one of those drivers might be as dangerous, if not more so, than George.

His car pulled alongside her and through the open widow, he said, “Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Jessie stepped off the road, backing into a barbed-wire fence.

He got out of the car and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I knew you liked me,” he said  He kissed her, fondled her, all while ignoring her mumbled cries to stop.

“Is there a problem?” a deep voice asked.

“No,” George said as he pulled away.

“Yes,” Jessie cried when she saw the park ranger. “Please, help me.”

“Sir, let the lady go.” The ranger glowered as he pulled Jessie aside. “Get in your car and drive away.”

“She’s got no way to get home. I’m her ride, so let her go.”

The ranger looked at Jessie. “Do you want to go with him?”

Jessie shook her head no. “But I’ll need help getting home.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of that.”

Once George was long gone, the ranger led her back up the hill to the booth. He had her sit on a folding metal chair next to his desk. “Now,” he said, “did he hurt you?”

“No. I’m okay. A little shaken up, though.”

“Do you have money for a cab?”

She shook her head.

“Can someone pick you up?”

“My parents, but I don’t want them to know about this. Please, don’t call them.”

The ranger nodded as he picked up the phone and made a call. He had her stay inside the booth until the cab came. He handed the driver money, then wished Jessie a good rest of the day.

Jessie dreaded what was waiting for her at home. Her parents would laugh uproariously, making fun as they’d done as she was growing up. This time would be worse, though, because George has proven them right, that no man would want her except for her body.

“Well, what happened?” her mom asked when she came through the front door. “Why didn’t that guy bring you home? Who paid for the cab?”

“Nothing happened,” Jessie said as she headed to her bedroom, her mother trailing behind.

“You’re lying.”

Jessie turned on her mother, her face contorted with anger. “You always think the worst. You never see anything good about me. You don’t trust me to know right from wrong. In fact, I’ve never heard you say you love me.” She closed the door to block out her mother’s shouts.

Jessie knew she’d have to see George again since he was her table partner, so she dreaded returning to class on Monday. But when the professor began his lecture, no George had appeared. She sighed. It was over. No love, no boyfriend, nothing except her parents.

Saddened, but relieved, Jessie wrote down copious notes as she fought to keep tears from flooding her eyes. George was yet another example of her failure to find the love that she so desperately yearned for.

When the professor stopped to turn on the projector, Jessie looked about the room, hoping that no one had noticed her distress. Everyone in front of her sat facing forward. For that she was grateful. No one behind her looked her way. To her left pairs of students were conversing quietly.. To her right an average-looking young man winked at her, shrugged his shoulders and then turned away.

Jessie’s eyes couldn’t pull away from him. His hair stuck out in crazy angles. His t-shirt was faded and a bit loose. When the man looked at her a second time, she smiled.

He wrote something on a piece of paper and passed it across the table that separated them. It simply said, “Meet me after class.”

Jessie’s heart soared. Maybe this rumpled, faded guy with a sweet, crooked smile was the guy she’d been waiting her whole life for.

 

My Favorite Season

Spring has always been my favorite season, both when we lived in Ohio and as a resident of California. Spring sits comfortably between the long, dreary days of winter and the sultry, lazy months of summer. It offers a pleasant mix of warming days and chilly nights, blue sunny skies and drenching downpours that wash away a variety of detritus.

When I was young the coming of spring heralded my longed-for escape from the tedious imprisonment of winter. In Beavercreek, Ohio where I lived until I was fourteen, snowplows seldom ventured into our rural neighborhood, making the gully-lined streets dangerous for pedestrians and cars. Winters were harsh and long-lasting. Hail, sleet, snow and infrequent, but deadly, ice storms blanketed our days. Waiting for the school bus to come in the early mornings required fortitude despite layers upon layers of protective gear.

When the temperatures finally changed from frosty to mild, the snows slowly disappeared. The browns of winter morphed into the lush colors of spring. Grasses and weeds put on their verdant coats, turning lawns into golf-course quality greens. Flowers pushed through the soil and then burst into song, filling the air with luscious scents. New life, the symbol of the season, declared its presence with trumpet blasts.

Spring signaled the ending of the school year. While I dreaded the humid days of summer, I hated school more. The tortures of squeezing my body into a snug-fitting desk were replaced with the freedom of running, climbing and exploring the woods behind our house.

All things that I loved came out of storage. Bicycles were hosed won, tires inflated, and chains oiled. Roller skate wheels were treated to a massage, gently rotating each to ensure proper movement. Kites popped out of newspapers and skinny boards, and when the wind was perfect, soared high into the sky.

Baseball equipment found its way into the backyard. Kiddie swimming pools were unfolded and inflated. Makeshift tents draped themselves over trailers, swing sets and clotheslines, begging to be occupied.

Energy oozed from every living thing and spoke about fun-filled days of constant movement. Spring was a time to reunite with friends who had been sequestered throughout the winter, playing long into the evenings.

That was in Ohio.

Since 1964 I have lived in California. Because of the mild temperatures of the San Francisco Bay Area, we live in a near-constant state of spring. Most evenings the fog rolls in, gifting us with pleasant nights for sleeping. Flowers bloom almost all year long, and when it rains, the rolling hills turn the most beautiful green imaginable.

Considering my love of the season, it’s not surprising that I got married in the spring. Considering the symbol of rebirth that spring stands for, I saw choosing that time of year as my opportunity to be reborn.    I walked into the church as a single, then emerged as an equal part of a couple.

On our honeymoon we lounged in an old hotel in Marin, stayed in a tiny cabin at Clear Lake and camped in Yosemite National Park. The weather was perfect, blessing us with blue skies, mild temperatures and plenty of opportunities to bask in the newness of us.

Time did not stand still, so when those glorious days ended and we returned to what would become our normal lives, we did so with the magic of spring in our hearts. As husband and wife we donned our new hats, hoping that the joys of spring would bless us for many years to come.

While it is not yet officially spring, because of the lack of rain and unusually warm days, it feels as if it has arrived. As I look out my window I see bright blue skies with a trace of feathery clouds, powdery white blossoms on trees, and the green shoots of the bulb-flowers exploding out of the earth.

These are the days to relish being alive, when Nature blesses us with Her many gifts, reminders of all that She does to enrich our lives.