Old Grey Mare

 Ten years ago, I was up for a new car. All my life, I had only purchased used and slightly used cars because that was the smart thing to do. I was taught that they lose thousands of dollars of value just driving them off the lot. “It was a waste of money to get a new one.” Heck, I was practically on a first name basis with Carmax. Furthermore, I was only to replace it many, many years after having paid it off. Many being eight to ten which felt more like a sentence. 

But that fall in 2016, I put my foot down and told my husband that I was 50 years old and just once in my life I wanted to choose my car not based on it being the only one on the lot with the least mileage. I wanted to sit in it and see how it rides. I wanted to have the perfect leg room for my 5’7” frame in the front seat and room in the back for my soon to be tall-like-his-dad 10 year old son. I wanted to select my own seats (heated leather of course) and the interior color. I wanted to add the amenities that I wanted and the rims and the trim that I wanted. And it had to be white. I always wanted a white car. They don’t show dirt as fast as a dark color car, and I know I will not make it to that car wash as often as I should.

In October, my husband asked me if I had anything in mind and I told him I had seen this new Audi Q5 drive by that I’d like to check out, but that was the only one so far. It was late fall and he never mentioned it again, so I assumed he wanted to wait to go car shopping after draining our bank account on our son’s Christmas.  

Well, Christmas arrived and my husband handed me a tiny box. I assumed jewelry at first, but as I opened it, I suddenly had a feeling of dread. NO, I thought to myself, please be jewelry. But there it was, an Audi key fob. Then I was led to the garage where I began to pray, please be white, please be white. And then I said, just don’t be grey, please don’t be grey which is a color others call silver and is absolutely the only color I’ve always hated. Slowly the garage door lifted and there sat my new Florett Silver Metallic  Audi Q5. 

On cue, I shouted and hugged him and ran to my new grey car.  I yanked the door open and bumped my head getting in as I slid into my all black interior and leather seats, this time bumping my knee on the console. He apologized that it wasn’t white saying they didn’t have any white ones on the lot, but he did get me the one that had the best sound system.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my car; after ten years you learn to. I have even learned to dip my head a bit when getting in, though I still bump my knee. It really has been a great car all things considered. And I got over the fact that two months after he got me my gift, he bought himself a white BMW. 

However, as it's time to start thinking about a new car, I was sitting at a traffic light noticing a grey car beside me. It was light grey. Then I saw a darker grey drive up and a gunmetal grey roll across in front of us. Grey really has become the color du jour these days. I thought about mine. It had grown on me and looked rather timeless and classy with its soft shimmery silver body. Then, as if on cue, something tickled my cheek. It turned out to be a long grey hair that had fallen from my head and I was reminded of how much I’ve aged in these last ten years along with my car. I only hope my grey looks as classy as my old Q5 does. I suppose grey isn’t so bad, and maybe I won’t put her out to pasture just yet.

Going Down!

 What happens when you fall?

You can fall from grace. You can fall off the wagon. You can literally fall off a horse, bike, or cliff. (You choose) No matter figuratively or realistically, it involves a demeaning, sometimes catastrophic moment in your life that could affect you physically over a long or short time, or mentally leaving your with fearful scars preventing you from going through life in a carefree manner not wanting a repeat of said injury. 

What I find most interesting is the time involved between the moment of realization and impact. From the outside looking in, it seems quick. You blink and a person who is standing is suddenly gone from view and lying instead supine on the ground. “It happened so quickly” is often the response. But is it quick? 

The thoughts that go through your mind during the actual occurrence leads me to think otherwise. Or is it quantum leap science at work? In those very quick moments, it is as if you have left your body for a different realm while the vessel left behind is under assault by said action. Why do I say this, you ask? Well, it is because the amount of thoughts that go through your mind do not match the amount of time it takes to fall. Normally, my ever so “growing sluggish” menopausal mind cannot even remember what I walked in a room for, but in the seconds that it takes to hit the ground, I have an entire litany of questions and hypothetical situations occur, some with actually cause and effect responses like the time I fell on the ski slope and went down while thinking how I promise to never put on skis again if I can get up without a broken bone once I hit the icy slop.

In today’s fall, my thought process went like this:

“OH F#6K!” (Please excuse the explicative.) I am going to fall! Is there anything I can grab to stop it? No, (thankfully because I would have ripped my arm out of my socket trying)! I guess it’s going to happen. Dammit! I can’t believe I’m going to fall again. I said I would be more careful. I wonder how hard I will hit? Will I slam my already bad back? I wonder if I will slam my head on the concrete. I wonder if I will pass out and if my husband will notice me out here behind this hottub. I should have known better than to drag this stupid massive golf practice mat while walking backwards. Oh there it is; I made contact. I actually hit with my butt first, and it cushioned my fall. Great, I am curved and I practically feel myself slowly lowering vertebrae by vertebrae to the ground. Yay, I will be able to keep my head off of the ground! Phew!

Then of course there are the afterthoughts… all still occurring within the same ten seconds.

Ugh! It was these oversized Crocs. Why would I walk backwards in one size too big shoes with no strap on? What was I thinking? Oh no, wait, I was wrong; it was the patio. I think I tripped over the curved section with the exposed metal rim. I couldn’t see it because of this rug. I wonder if I am hurt. Hmm. No, not yet, but I bet I will feel it tomorrow. The last time my back didn’t lock up until the third day. I wonder how long it will last? Will I need pain pills or muscle relaxants? 

These thoughts which all start in the ether realm, become more real time as I slowly start to move while taking stock doing body part by body part assessments for pain. 

Once again, I ask how in the world did I have all those thoughts in a few seconds with my geriatric mind. It had to be a quantum leap of protection. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Safe Space

 As I was stripping the hallway walls of the book report posters and enjoying the momentary respite before the bell would call the wild denizen out to run free for five minutes, my mind began to wander about the upcoming year. Everyone is always so hopeful that the next new crop will be good kids. They will complete their work on time. They will be inquisitive and will love math and reading. My books will disappear off my shelf because they sneak them out to read, and keep them by their bedside for the whole year, not because they lose them at the the bottom of their locker eventually tossing them into the lost and found as though my name were not on it. They will be quiet and stay in their seats and not need to go to the water fountain, bathroom, or locker every few minutes to escape. 

This made me think about our loud student. The one we all know even though we don't have her in our own class. It dawned on me that she will not have an audience. How will she get the attention she needs? Then I thought about the bully. I wonder who will be protecting him from his bullies -- the ones who taught him how to pick on others. I thought about my little friend who, when given free time, hunts me down and corners me to show me his art, or computer program, or story that he wrote instead of playing with the other children. Who will be there for him to share?  There's my genius chess player, who loves to shout and make funny noises to make people laugh. Will he be all alone studying all summer? Lastly there is my negative Nancy. A glass half empty person, her every response to "how was your weekend" was always "Terrible." All she does is complain about having to take care of her sisters by making breakfast before school and dinner after school. Will she now be their all day caregiver, cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner without anytime for herself nor anyone her age to play with. 

As happy as I am for school to end to get away from all the ones that were problematic, I am in reality worried about them as each and every behavior good or bad comes from home first, and I pray they have peace until they can get back to this safe space called school.

Lunch Date

 

I lunched with a wasp

I, a green salad and he a 

green caterpiller

A Prelude to Blueberries

 

tiny white petals

honey sweet scent fill the air

blackberry prelude

Adolescent Alliteration

I was creating a piece for the website Six Word Memoirs and decided to create it as alliteration. I will admit, I was on the fence with "AI" because we use it as one word, but it is actually two. Does this mean mine is actually a seven word Memoir? Hmm.

Adolescents adore: apathy, anime, angst, AI

The Mulberry Tree II

 The Mulberry Tree

Other kids had tall sentinel oaks dropping helicopters that danced and spun in the wind, or majestic maples throwing acorns to the squirrels. They stood tall on broad thick trunks and dwarfed the houses in their shade. No grass could grow beneath them for they blocked all the sun. Nor could we ever dream of climbing the giants for the lowest branch was miles above our heads. To us, their sole purpose was to serve as home base. It was a place where a Seeker could lean their forehead. With eyes closed and a limited view if they tried to peek due to the sheer girth of the trees, they would chant: 

“Last night, 

Night before, 

24 robbers at my door

I got up,

Let them in,

Hit ‘em in the head

With a rolling pin. 

One, two, three,… ” 

… while everyone else sprinted to find the perfect hiding place.

However, the tree in our backyard was special. It was not a tool to be used in play. It took care of us. We were sent out in the morning and not allowed back in the house until dinner time. There was no snacking; it could ruin your appetite. Some got lunch; most – did not. So, it became our tree of life. It was a beautiful –  squat, short and wide with limbs and leaves that branched out into a huge Angela Davis afro. It was decorated with delicious purple, red and black mulberries that were covered in tiny squishy cracks and crevices waiting for us to eat. At its base was a trunk with the most perfectly gnarly twists and turns that were stairsteps to the fruit ladened branches above. All the neighborhood kids would converge on our treasure in the afternoons and climb as high as we could reach, straddle a sturdy branch, and pluck the juicy berries that stained our hands permanently purple and popped them in our mouths. We stuffed ourselves until we could not make room for one more single berry.  Then, we’d carefully climb back down and run off to play – pausing only to wipe spider webs from the rusty water spigot beside the house before taking a cool drink.  

One day, my daddy, tethered to his oxygen tank, leaned out the window and called down to me to get a bowl, and fill it up with mulberries for him, which I happily did. After quickly scrambling up and gathering as many as the bowl could hold without losing my balance, I ran back into the house and handed it to him.

He said, “No, go into the kitchen and fill the bowl with water. Then pour salt into it, and let it sit for an hour.”

Salt? I was grossed out, but I did what I was told. Why in the world he wanted salt on his berries was beyond my comprehension. After an hour, he called me back in and told me to go get the bowl. He told me to pour off the water, then rinse them. 

When I went to grab the bowl, I froze. 

There, floating on top of the water, were thousands of tiny little black bugs. 

I was beyond speechless.

It was absolutely disgusting.

I miss those mulberries. 

They really were so sweet and delicious. But, needless to say, that was absolutely the last time I ever put another mulberry in my mouth.

** This story was inspired by a prompt from EthicalELA.com I wrote it as a poem for them yesterday and prose today.