Rock Writers’ Guild

Midday. The sidewalks of Montague Street teemed with people streaming from office buildings, escaping mailrooms, cubicle farms and corner suites in search of a satisfying lunch. Business still buzzed in frenzied conversations over BlackBerry’s and between clusters of suits. Others left commerce at their desks, laughing with friends and hoping to get a good seat at their favorite eating place.

Maria heard none of this. She was heedless of the traffic noise, the jostling of the crowd. Only the faint sea breeze from the East River several blocks away kept her focused. Passersby couldn’t see the sullen eyes hidden behind sunglasses. It’s easy to hide in a crowd, thought Maria, No one should know who I am.

Maria had secluded herself in her office the entire morning. Hours past unnoticed as Maria’s sole fixation was the view the floor to ceiling windows afforded her. An unobstructed vista of the Promenade, the river and lower Manhattan beyond spread out before her. The executive suite was a symbol of her success, but it brought more. Like her father, a hard bitten garment district worker, Maria was cold, ruthless and unfeeling. “Maria, you do what you have to do to make it,” Papa had said, “Don’t let them hurt you. Don’t let them use you.” Maria listened. The lying and the deceit became part of the game to protect what was hers, procure what she wanted. A little partying, a few lines, a little dalliance here and there added thrill to convention. More risk, more life, she reasoned.

             As Maria’s hazel eyes pondered the river, dark thoughts plagued her mind, as they had for the last three of her thirty-four years. The parties, the con games, the indiscretions, all left her numb, lifeless, dead. Her husband and children didn’t know her any longer. Was it all worth feeling so diminished, so empty? Was it really possible for someone to sell their soul? What have I done? Madre de Dios, what have I done?

She shook her head as if to clear it. But the path before her was plain. The decision was made. Maria rose from her leather chair and left the office tower. She never looked back.

              Maria headed toward the Promenade. The cold, watery embrace of the East River waited at the pier’s edge, far below street level, away from the inquisitive eye. Nameless wanderers may see, but would not mark her passing. Good, thought Maria, No grave, no headstone, no one will mourn…

               Mama…Within one block of descending to cheerless bliss, Maria stopped as if shot, looked about as if she heard something. Nothing. Still, a vague memory, resurrected by one more primal, found life in Maria’s mind.

“Mama… I can’t…do this…to you,” Maria said aloud. Turning, she doubled back, retracing her own footsteps, toward the business center. Maria pushed her dark brown hair back and hastened her steps as if to outpace an unseen pursuer. Was this another miscalculation, a case of injudicious intuition that would only add to the misery? She thrust the thought aside.

Maria slipped down Henry Street and followed the narrow sidewalk. Boutiques and bistros gave way to residences. She was grateful for the cool shade cast by row houses and trees along either side of the street. Near the end of the block, amidst lush copse of hickory and oak in a tiny courtyard was a church. Built of dark, ruddy, stone bricks of varying size, it stood taller than any structure nearby, a guardian of all that was held sacred by her patrons. Maria faced the church’s weathered, iron gate. This is a place for only good and decent people, she thought, I don’t belong here. Maria had seen this place before and noticed the signs: “First Presbyterian Church” and “Open for Prayer and Meditation.” Neither the signs nor the building so much as piqued her interest in the past. Now, something inexorable had brought her to an end and drew her to ponder the posted invitation.

          Maria looked at the formidable structure. Ivy clung to the outer edges and corners and extended nearly a third of its height. Although it was a warm day, Maria trembled. She wanted to turn and run but felt rooted to the concrete pavers. She pushed open the gate. It swung easily against her touch. Gazing at the aged oak doors at the top of the steps, it reminded her of the times that her mother had taken her to mass as a small child. Mama was fervent and prayed the rosary daily. Maria had watched Mama closely. Although they had nothing, Mama always found reason to smile, even through the tears. “Always trust in God, chica,” Mama had said, “Remember to pray always.” Maria loved her mother but never found a place for her mother’s faith. Then, God had seemed distant, irrelevant, even unreal. Now, as she stood in her own private hell, Maria wondered if Mama could have been right. “Oh, Mama, why didn’t I listen?”

            Yet here she stood in the sun dappled courtyard. The wind sighed through the leaves. Sparrows Maria didn’t hear before now sang in sweet accompaniment to an unfamiliar but gentle prompting. “Maria, do what you have to do to.” “Always trust in God, chica.” The words rushed unbidden from the past with the force of the convictions and love with which they were spoken. Two disparate voices from polar fields conspired to speak to her as one. One voice. A voice greater that the sum of its ethereal parts whispered wordless volumes and touched her. “Is there a way out of the mess I’ve made?” There it was. Maria finally admitted it. She found the one who had brought her so low –herself. Strength welled up from the edges of her life. Even this place spoke to her. Its very age, marked by hardy ivy, the wind and rain swept doors, the beaten iron, and the imposing stone façade spoke of – something, Maria had no name for it - that transcended time and bared her pitiable attempts to mitigate it for a moment’s pleasure, a broken crock of useless things. No longer did Maria see utter despair. She felt the stirrings of something here that had become totally foreign to her: hope.

              This was not a Catholic church. Maria didn’t care. There was something here. Maybe a priest would help. Was there a priest here? Was anyone here? She didn’t know. I have to do this, she determined, I know this is right. Maria stowed her sunglasses and pursed her lips. She took a deep breath, mounted the steps and went inside.

“Lord, I need to get away.  Please help me find a spot alone.”

The warm ocean breeze blew softly as the waves pounded the shore.  The sounds of the surf continued to echo as the noise of others faded in the distance. Finally, after a long walk, I found myself alone.

I flung the towel on the sand in a halfway manner before collapsing face down.  Hot tears flowed as the fears for my marriage, and my kids attacked in full force.

“Father, so many things are wrong in my life.  Tom seems so distant in his looks and touch.  Both kids are angry all the time, and I don’t blame them.  All we ever do is fight.  Lord, I can’t take anymore.   What am I suppose to do now?” 

No answers came with only the waves roaring in the background.

Later, I finally turned to look out over the wonder of the ocean.  The waves continually rushed in and raced back out, repeating the age-old ritual. Within minutes, several mounds of sand caught my attention.   Uniquely formed by the bucket of a child at play earlier, they stood like soldiers guarding the beach.

Soon the tide turned and the waves again inched forward, slowly reclaiming their rightful place as ruler of the beach.  Each surge closed ranks on the beach sentinels.  The battle would be swift and lethal, but a sure victory for the salty ruler.

“Imagine for a moment these mounds are the issues in your life,” the Lord prompted my spirit.  Allowing my imagination to run wild, each sentry suddenly became a symbol of my problems.  My home, family, work and even church stood at attention on the shifting sands.

‘General Tom’ the commander-in-chief, stood tall and proud, guarding the shore demanding the honor of his rank. He carried the burden of not only our marriage, but the entire welfare of my little family.  What would we do? Where could we go from here?  Our love and marriage were in dire need of a morale boost.

By his side, I stood, Lieutenant Colonel.  The wind distorted the soldier’s original form, warping it much like my weary spirit.  A small smile and chuckle escaped at the absurdity of my thoughts.  Nevertheless, I quickly returned to my gaze to the guardians of the beach.

Master Sergeant Cindy defiantly stood in formation.  A good kid, but a typical teenage struggling to discover her place in this world.  Her barricade stood erect preventing passage by those who loved her, especially the Lord.  At one time, she was on fire for Him, but the strain in our family had pushed her away.

Next in line and rank stood Private Benjamin, not quite a teenager, but no longer my little boy.  He had shied away from the constant conflicts, spending more time in his room.   Even now, my heart ached for the obvious misery each soldier felt.  I looked at each remaining form and meditated on issue at hand.

“Lord, I am sick and tired of the enemy having reign in our lives.  It makes me so angry and he seems to be winning.  My home should be a safe haven from the world, not this war zone. This is not right Father, I ask you to do a deep work within each of us.  Please help us.  Begin with me, Lord,” sobs flowed again.

Quickly, a flood of images and memories came.

“Father, forgive me.  I am just as selfish and stubborn as I accuse them of being. I reacted in pride and demanded my own way. Cleanse my heart and spirit. Teach me how to walk in Your ways. Lord, help me.” 

Lost in my memories, I repented of each event as the Lord revealed them.  Later, I looked at the sand soldiers; they had lost their battle in the rolling tide. 

“Just as the waves washed away the images of your imaginary sentries, allow My peace to wash away your fears. Let me be God in your life.  Nothing is impossible but you must trust Me.”

A soft smile grew as I listened closely to the prompting of the Lord.

“Yes, Lord. Teach me to wait on You.”

As His peace settled the sands of my fears, I quickly leapt up and worked my way down the beach.  For the first time in a very long time, I was anxious to get home.  There were no miraculous changes in these few hours.  Well maybe just one … me.

I was driven from sleep by the sound of voices and crashing plates.   Our house was not that big and the walls were paper thin, so any noise from another room did not go unheard from the rest of the house.  Charlie and I sat up straight in our beds and strained to see each other in the darkness.  I called to him to see if he knew what was going on.  He told me to shut up so he could listen.

Its Momma and Daddy fightin’ again! He said.

What about? I responded.

I ain’t got a clue, Herm.  Just listen.

Momma and Daddy had fought before, but never like this.  What could it be that had Momma crying and wailing so.  Daddy seemed indifferent to the whole “discussion”.  Charlie crawled from his bed and lay on the floor by the door so he could hear better.  He effectively blocked what little light was coming into the room.  So I got down there next to him to listen too.  He was my big brother and whatever he could do I could also. 

Daddy had come home late again and Momma in her usual manner decided to interrogate him as to his whereabouts.  I guessed she expected him to start with his usual list of excuses but it was not to be.  For on that night we all discovered that Daddy had a second family.  Through my mother’s tears I heard:

“How can you do this to us?”

“What will you tell your sons?’

With each question she posed, the response came with icy quickness.  He didn’t have to explain himself to her and he didn’t care what she told us.  Momma had always been in church, but upon hearing Daddy’s indifference, hurled into a whirlwind of cuss words that would make the saltiest sailor blush.  It became clear to us that the crying was over.  Momma was mad, real mad.  Apparently Charlie didn’t want to miss it cause he popped to his feet and tried to open the door, knocking my head against it.  With me out of the way, Charlie burst into the hall to see Momma hit Daddy up side his head with the skillet from the stove.  I followed after Charlie and we both stood there with our mouths wide open as we saw Momma proceed to beat the fire out of Daddy.  Mingled among the continuous assault of cussing and beating was one phrase,  “Who’s cryin’ Now!”   She just kept hitting him with that cast iron skillet and Daddy was defenseless, barely able to cover himself in a vain attempt to fend off this attack.  Momma finally grew tired, both physically and of Daddy, and urged him to either leave and let that “tramp” take care of him or lay there and bleed and get some more of that skillet.  Daddy was not the smartest man but he knew well enough to pull himself up off that floor and get out of the house.  In his leaving he only looked our way once before he went out the front door holding his head.  The blood trail from that initial blow followed him out.  Momma watched him go and without a word returned the skillet to it place and sat down at the kitchen table.  Charlie and I sat down next to her, not knowing what to say.  Charlie’s lip began to quiver and the tears began to flow.  Momma looked at him, cupped his face in her hands and kissed away his tears.  My face was like stone.  Tears fought to jump from my eyes but I fought them back with everything that was in me.  I was determined to sit there unyielding.  The pain of what took place was etched on my face but I refused grief,  I denied it the satisfaction of victory.  Momma finally looked at me and said,  “Herman,  its ok to cry.”  I could feel my will begin to break as a single tear rolled down my face. 

“What are we gonna do now, Momma?”  said Charlie.

“I don’t know yet boys, but it will be alright!”

With that she squeezed our hands and drew us in for a long embrace,  I could hear her praying silently for us.  She kissed us and sent us back to bed.  Once back in bed, I let down my guard and the tears soon followed.  Sometime during that sleepless night I vowed never to be the kind of man my Daddy was. I vowed to break this family curse that sought to destroy my family.   It did not succeed!

 work in progress……

His hands shook as he crammed the last bit of meat into his mouth, juices pouring down his forearms. Reaching for his drink he saw the tracks running the length of his arm. His fingers grasping the glass were filthy deep in the crevices. If it were not for his thirst he would have pulled his hands back under the table. 

“Why did your father let him in? He reeks!” Sara said projecting her voice across the large oak table.“He’s just back from his travels.” Jacob spoke, cold steel in his heart. “Didn’t you notice his bags in the foyer?  Thomas has been to exotic locations and brought with him great treasure to share with his family.” 

Thomas’ left hand tightened in his lap. Hurt shot through him in searing agony. Raising his eyes to meet his brothers, tears fell on his empty plate. 

“That will be enough!” Sam said rising to his feet placing his hand on his sons shoulder. “Come with me upstairs Thomas; let’s find hot water to freshen up.” Thomas placed his hand on his fathers, “No father let’s address this here and now.” “Jacob, what you and Sara say are truth, I am not fit to sit at the table with you.” Sam’s’ grip tightened on his on his shoulder. Thomas stood to his feet, still shaky under him. “When I was laying in the gutter, my clothes soiled with my own vomit and excrement, I thought there was no hope left for me in this world, and I knew I had taken myself to the depths of hell.” Jacob stared at Thomas with complete contempt as Thomas spoke. Tears continued down Thomas’ face. “I only thought to come back to seek fathers forgiveness, although I knew I had no right.”  

“You left us behind to take care of all of the work! You were not even here when mother died, grieving for her lost son! She cried for you as if she didn’t have a son, a loyal and faithful son who stood by her side while you were out on one of your adventures!”  Jacob spat his venom into the room 

Samuel spoke with authority in his voice, “Jacob, your brother is home, I have welcomed him back, and you will do the same or you may leave.” Now both sons looked at their father with disbelieving eyes. 

“Love is like that sometimes.” Heads all snapped in the direction of the kitchen door. “Love doesn’t have eyes to see, it knows the heart.” “Rebecca!” Thomas leapt across the room sweeping his sister in his arms, as his brother sulked out of the room.“What a breath of fresh air you are! You’ve become a woman, and even more beautiful if that could be possible.” Thomas sat his sister back down. Rebecca placed her hand on her brother’s cheek, “you must forgive Jacob, he is speaking from a broken heart which has hardened from pain and unforgivness.” Sam reached for his son’s arm pulling him in the direction of the stairs. “Rebecca have Tabitha draw a bath for Thomas while we go and find suitable clothing for him to change into.” “Father please let me go to the guest house to change and clean up, I cannot stay here as filthy as I am, I am already dredging in dirt on the carpets, mother will…” Thomas’ voice trailed off as he realized the sharp pain of loss again in the center of his chest. Sam turned his son to face him, firmly holding on to his shoulders and looked him square in the eyes, still red and brimming with tears. “Thomas, although your mother has been gone only a short while, and I miss her with all my being, I know that she would be ecstatic at your return as I am, she would pay no attention to the dirt on the floor, her eyes would only see her lost son, returned to her as if from the dead. You are home, all is forgiven, and a fresh start is yours from this day forward. Take with you the lessons you learned, look back only to see where you have come as a marker for where you are going. Start today in a new direction.” “The water is ready, Rebecca called from the stairway, come while it is still hot.” “See even the servants are joyful at your return! They have heated your bath in a fraction of the time so that you could wash yourself clean from your journey.” Still weak, but stronger than he had been in a long time, Thomas reached for the railing as he ascended the stairs. Just the thought of clean hot water made his skin hunger. Quickening his pace up the stairs, he took the thick towel from Rebecca, and once again looked into those deep violet eyes. “Thank you Rebecca, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when mother…Rebecca placed her fingers on Thomas’ lips, “hush go to the water before it is cold, and a clean body will do wonders for your spirit.”  

“Jacob, come down and talk to me.”  “How did you know I would be up here?” Jacob asked his father leaning over the edge of the barn. “This is were we always found you when you were a boy, and in trouble.” “You never found me here, I would remember it if you did.” Sam chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Your mother and I knew you needed time to think about things, so once we found out this was your thinking place we respected your time here. You always came down from up there with a better attitude than you went up, and your mother thought that was a place worth respecting. So we never interfered with you here.” At the thought of his mother Jacob felt his hear clench and his anger and pain collided inside his chest. Leaning back on the smooth tin just starting to cool as the sun sunk on the horizon, Jacob looked at the sky and sulked into silence. “Jacob, you were our first born, the one we made all the rules for to lead you into a position of power to one day take my place, you were the one we always depended on, and knew would become a stalwart leader. You were our first and brightest child. Then Thomas came and we…”  “Yes then Thomas came, and I became invisible. The diligent loyal son became the abandoned son. Follow Thomas with the beautiful Rebecca and I became the forgotten.” Jacob sat up and looked down at his father accusingly.  “I can see how you would feel that way; Thomas was always the center of attention, relentlessly pursuing one calamity after another. I’m sure the only reason he survived is because you were there to pick him up, time after time.” “That is the worst part of all of this, where was Thomas when I needed him? Where was he all those months you were at mothers side, and I took on all of the responsibilities?” “Do you remember the time you and your brother came back from that fishing trip? You were carrying all of the supplies and Thomas came running up with the string of fish you had caught as if they were all his own, the joy in his catch was so contagious we all let it slide that it was you who caught the most, and the largest fish. Even you were happy that day. Do you remember it?” Jacob leaned back on the now cold tin roof and watched the stars emerge out of the darkness. “How can I forget, it was his first fishing trip, and he had been so excited he couldn’t remember to bait his hook each time he through it out into the river. When I would catch a fish he would splash his way over to me scaring off any further chances for trout for another thirty minutes, and impatiently rip the fish from the line and put him on the stringer. The only reason I was able to catch as many as I did was because I sent him down stream to look for turtles and frogs. He must have turned every rock over in that part of the stream because when I came to find him later, he had dammed up part of a side stream with his pile of slimy river rocks. On the bank were three medium sized turtles fighting for footing feet peddling the air.” Jacob chuckled at the memory, forgetting his anger for a moment. “He never could be still long enough to catch anything, the poor turtles didn’t have a chance, but the frogs were too fast and slippery for him. Too bad, frog legs would have been better than that awful turtle soup mom insisted on making after learning of Thomas’ great conquest of “turtle creek”. “That same young man is up in his room tonight, and he needs his big brother again. He needs your forgiveness Jacob; he has come home a different man than the young child that left here last year. He has squandered more than his money, he has lost part of his dignity and the degradation has taken a deep toll on his soul. Please consider the power of your welcome to your humbled brother.”Thomas watched his father and brother cross the field in the bright light of the full moon and starry night. A thousand lights seemed to radiate from his heart as he saw his brother and father walking toward the house. How much he had missed them, how many times had he thought to return, only to find himself deeper in the pit of despair and fear of returning to this place where his brother was the one his mother and father counted on to run the business. The thought of his mother’s absence caused him to fall to the floor on his knees in weak straining pain. His cry this time came from deep inside, bent over again crying silent heaving sobs.  Jacob and Sam walked into the room to find Thomas bent over sobbing and rocking back and forth on his knees. “I am so sorry, so sorry.” Thomas spoke between sobs. “I miss her so much. I am so sorry I was not here when she needed me, when you needed me.” Thomas looked up into his brothers eyes. “Can you ever forgive me? I can never repay all that I have destroyed. If you will just forgive me I will toil for you in the fields until my dying day. I will not sleep on my bed, but will make my place in the servant’s quarters, I will move there now. I am so sorry.” Bending over with arms wrapped about his waist, Thomas continued to weep and rock on the floor before his Father and brother. Both men knelt down on each side of him and placing their hands on his shoulder tears in their eyes as well, steadied Thomas in their strong grip. “Thomas you were forgiven the moment you turned and started on your way home. I know it was not easy for you to return knowing what you had done, and not knowing what would await you. I admire you for having the courage to believe that there would be a place for you here. Even if you believed that place would be among the least, you returned to find you were welcome and even this humbled you. I believe your return has taught me to treasure my home and family whom I almost lost to my pride. I am glad you are home brother, and I know mother would rejoice if she were here to greet you. Forgive me Thomas, for doubting you, and not showing you kindness and mercy in your time of greatest need.”Thomas looked into the eyes of his cherished big brother, with a look of wonder and new respect. “I lost everything I had, but I never lost my respect and love for you Jacob, I have always carried you in my heart. The things I did, the places I went were the lowest filth a man can find himself in. I feared you would find me in some of those places, and my shame would have caused me to die a million deaths. I held on to the hope, that if you did find me, you would help me find my way out. Now that I am here, you have helped me find my way home. Thank you both, I can never repay the debt of gratitude I owe you.”

Iyam, the keeper of the jungle in the land of La, sat high atop his rock and watched his garden below where the river flows and the Divi Divi trees grow. It was a very hot day and Rosy the elephant came strolling down the garden path and saw the cool river. She looked one way then the other to make sure it was safe to go into the refreshing water.

As she began to step into the river, she heard an angry voice bubbling up from the mud.

It was Albert the aligator. “If you step into this river I will bite your toes off.”

“Oh yeah!” Rosy snorted. “You just try it and I will step on you and squish you in the mud.”

Albert said, “Momma always taught me never trust an elephant because they will squish you in the mud. I can’t let you in my river because you look different than me.”

“Oh yeah!” Rosy responded. “This is not your river, it is everyone’s river. My momma says stay away from aligators or they will bite your toes off. Besides, you are not pretty like me. My nose is long and slender but your nose is fat and flat.”

“So what”, said Albert. “I have lots of strong, sharp teeth and you only have two silly, long teeth sticking out each side of your nose and you have big floppy ears too.”

“Oh, that was really mean.” said Rosy.

“Well, you were mean to me too.”

“Why do we have to be so mean to each other?” Rosy asked.

“Because it has always been that way. It’s the rules.” Albert replied thoughtfully.

“Can we change the rules? I don’t like to be mean.” Rosy admitted.

“I don’t know. Let’s go ask Iyam, the Great Gardener of the jungle. He knows everything.”

So Rosy and Albert began their journey to the Rock where Iyam lives. Rosy was very careful not to step on Albert and Albert promised not to bite Rosy’s toes along the way.

Rosy asked Albert if he liked biting elephant toes and Albert answered, “I would never bite your toes if I wasn’t afraid of being squished. Why do you want to squish aligators in the mud anyway?”

Rosy explained, “I would never squish you in the mud if I knew you were there. It’s just that you blend right into the mud and I can’t see you.”

By the time they reached Iyam, Rosy and Albert had become friends.

The two friends stood together in front of Iyam. He was smiling and happy to see them. “What can I do for you?” he asked the two.

Rosy spoke up and said, “We have always been taught that we can not like each other because we are different. That’s the rules.”

Albert continued, “But we like each other and we want to be friends. Can we change the rules?”

Iyam said, “If you choose to, you can be friends.”

Rosy promised, “Albert, I will not ever squish you in the mud, but I have to be able to see you there.”

Albert promised, “Rosy, I will never bite your toes off, but I have to know they are your toes.”

Iyam said, “I have an idea, if you will listen to me. We will let everyone in the jungle have a chance to help. We will ask the birds in the Divi Divi trees to gather all the red berries in the jungle and use them to paint Rosy’s toes red so that Albert can see them in the river.”

“OOOH,” exclaimed Rosy, “I will be so pretty with red toes!”

Iyam continued, “We can also ask the monkeys in the banana trees to gather the golden banana leaves and weave them together in a golden crown to put on Albert’s head. That way, Rosy can see Albert in the mud.”

Albert said proudly, “I always wanted a crown.”

Iyam said, “It is done.”

All the animals in the jungle gathered together at the river’s edge where the Divi Divi trees grow and rejoiced that there was peace at the river in the land of La.

End-note: This story is dedicated to Lisa Forstner who encouraged us to finish it and who sees the kindergardener in all of us.

Also: Fellow members of the writer’s guild, Would you please read this over carefully and give us your best critque. We are thinking of getting it illustrated and trying to publish this as a children’s book.

     Daniel was trying to fill his outfield.  He had his bat over his shoulder with his glove dangling from the end. Little Rizwan Kazjahni was at his side, glancing up at him and trying to match his purposeful gait.  Daniel was wearing his new Pittsburgh Pirates Bicentennial baseball cap.  It was shapedlike an ovular hatbox with a sharp edge all around the top. It looked like the style worn by the players from the eighteen hundreds.  When Daniel put it back on that morning he imagined himself a burly white man with a handlebar mustache belting one over the 400 feet mark.  His dad bought it for him at the game last night.  They were in heaven together.  Three Rivers Stadium roared and the Pirates trounced those rotten Phillies 6 to 1.
     Daniel need an outfield today.  Tut from Northside had challenged him to play their team at four.  Sometimes Tut brought his team to Daniel’s sandlot off Carson St.  Today was Daniel’s turn to meet them at theirs.  But he needed nine players.  Tut would not even consider playing Daniel unless he had a full team. 
     “If I can round up seven can you spot me two?”
     Tut spat his tobacco juice and shook his head. “Round up some honkies, if you need to.  But if you don’t got nine, we ain’t playin’.”
     Baseball was it to Daniel.  He had to play. He could have just gone to Tut with the six he had and played for his team.  Tut never had problems finding teams to play after little league season ended.  But Daniel did.  And he was a coach too, besides a pitcher and cleanup batter.  There was no way he was going to submit himself to Tut’s big ugly self.  It was one of those “Better to serve in hell…” deals. But scraping up that outfield was going to be a toughy.
     They tried Timmy Mayfield first.
     “Hey, Timmy!  Four o’clock over near the Clark plant.  Tut’s ready for us.  You can play right field.”
     Timmy’s face scrunched up.  “Four?  Lost in Space comes on at three-thirty.  Then Prince Planet  and Ultra Man.  I can play at five-thirty.”
     “Game starts at four, man!  ‘Lost in Space’?  ‘Ultra Man’?  This is BASEBALL, Timmy!”
     Timmy thought for a minute.  “Nah, these are really good episodes today.  I don’t wanna miss ‘em.”
     Rizwan had to double time it to keep up with Daniel.
     “‘Prince Planet’?” Daniel snuffed.  “Who’s he compared with stealin’ second?  Who’s he compared to Dave Parker?  Dave Parker’s Ultra Man!”
     Next was Robbie Goehring.  Robbie was a reliable player.  They were in the top reading group together at school. But Robbie’s mom was prejudiced. Anytime Daniel came to the door she had to anounce,”Robbie, that nice little colored boy is here to see you.”  Daniel HATED that, but was willing to endure it today to get Robbie to play ball.
     Daniel was pleasantly surprised by Mrs. Goehring on this afternoon.  “Robbie, Danny’s here.”
     Holy Smoke, Daniel thought.  No ‘colored’ intro.
     She stood by the door with Daniel and waited for Robbie. Finally she smiled at Daniel and asked, “So, did you watch Good Times last night?
     Oh, for Pete’s sake!
     “No, Ma’am.  I’m partial to Happy Days.”
     Robbie finally appeared.  “Hey, Daniel.”
     “Hey, Robbie.  Game at four.  Against Tut.  You can play right field.”
     Robbie hesitated, winced, then shook his head.  “I’m working on my new Huey, Dewey, and Louie models.”
     “They have models about ducks?”
     Robbie looked offended.  “No!  These are Huey, Dewey, and Louie, the robots from Silent Running.”
     It was Daniel’s turn to wince.  “Robots?  I need you, Robbie!  You can actually play!  You can build robots tonight after we play baseball. Come on!”
     Daniel and Rizwan were marching on alone, of course.  Rizwan was nearly running now, to keep up.
     “Robots.  Robots!  Man, I’m gonna start a club up, and the only rule I’m gonna have is that you gotta hate robots!”
      Luckily, Kyle Stuber and his brother Mikey were home together.  If Daniel could get them to play, maybe Tut would let him bum one player.  This was risky, though.  The last time Kyle played,  he ran off second on a caught fly ball, was tagged out, broke into tears and ran home.  But he could play…
     Oh no.  Kyle and Mikey were in their back yard playing Star Trek.  Kyle was Captain Kirk.  He had a squirt gun for a phaser.  Mikey was wearing plastic pointy Mr. Spock ears.  He had a cassette player for a tri-corder.  This was not a good start.
     “You can be Dr. Bones McKoy, Daniel!  And Rizwan can be an alien!”
     “No, Kyle,” Daniel pleaded, “you can be right field, and Mikey can be center!”
     Kyle shook his head.  “No.  I don’t like playing ball.”
     “But you’re great, Kyle!”  Not a complete stretch of the truth.  “Remember that time when Tut had bases loaded in the last inning and you ran back and caught that fly ball?  You won the game for us!  Tell me how phasers and robots and tri-corders are gonna give you a feeling like that?”
     Rizwan matched Daniel’s droopy funeral pace. 
    ”I don’t get it,” Daniel lamented.  “Kent Tekulve’s averaging five hitless innings per game. Willie Stargell and Bill Robinson are battling it out for .400 averages.  But I can’t even get three kids to play outfield!”  He spat and cursed.  “Robots!”
     Daniel could not fathom that his frustrations would only mount higher next summer.  Star Wars would be coming to a theater near you!

            Jason peeked out the doorway of his bedroom to make sure no one would see him.  As he tiptoed down the hall, he slipped by the unoccupied bathroom on his right and his sister’s closed door on the left.  She would never know he had walked past, since her stereo was blaring the local Christian radio station.  Silently, he moved into the master bedroom, his eyes scanning the tidy space.  His dad had straightened the floral bedspread on the antique, oak bed just the way his mother liked it.  The nick-knacks on her bedside table were neatly arranged including the gold, macaroni-encrusted picture frame Jason had given to her this past Christmas.  He turned to the tall, dresser and matching mirror on his right.  His mother’s jewelry box and perfume sat neatly on a small silver platter on top. 

He glanced at the door and listened carefully to make sure no one would catch him.  Then, standing on his toes and stretching out his arm, he clutched the bottle containing his mother’s favorite scent.  Jason’s small hands wrapped around the pink, glass bottle and he held it tightly to his chest.  Cautiously, the he removed the bottle’s cap and squirted the liquid into the air.  Just as he leaned forward to take in the aroma, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs; his dad was coming.  Quickly, he tried to replace the cap but missed and accidentally sprayed himself.  He tried again and succeeded.  He reached above his head to return the bottle to its place on the silver tray.  Just as the glass made contact with the metal, he was startled buy the sound of his father’s fist pounding on his sister’s door and his booming voice threatening consequences if the volume was not quickly reduced.  The shock caused Jason to loose his balance for a second and he began leaning backward.  Fear gripped him as he realized he was falling and he groped for a handhold.  He fumbled and accidentally grabbed the edge of the tray; it was too late.  The loud crash brought the attention of his father who rushed down the hall and into the room. 

Jonathan Parker scooped up his frightened, crying son and held him close, catching a whiff of his wife’s perfume in the process.  He sat on the edge of the bed; Jason crying tears onto his shirt.  When the child’s crying lessened, Jonathan pulled Jason away from his body so he could see the boy’s face.  As he tenderly wiped away the tear tracks, he gave Jason a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and began to question him.  “Are you okay, Pardner?” he asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Jason answered.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I was trying to put something back on Mom’s dresser and I grabbed the tray as I fell.”  Jason looked down in shame as he finished the sentence. 

“What were you trying to put back on the dresser, Bud?”

“The pink bottle.”

“Why did you get it down?”  Jonathan asked gently.

“I wanted to smell her perfume,” Jason admitted.  “I miss her, and I thought if I smelled her again, I could dream about her tonight.”  The words tumbled out of Jason’s mouth quickly and took his father by surprise. 

A knot formed in Jonathan’s throat as he forced a smile for his son and embraced him in a bear hug.  The hug was intended to comfort Jason, but it also hid his own tears of grief from the eyes of his little boy.  After a moment, a small voice broke the silence.  “Daddy, is Mommy with Jesus?”  Jonathan lessened to ferocity of the hug, wiped his own tears, and then looked at his son.

“Yes, Jason, Mommy is with Jesus.  He is going to take care of her until we go to heaven,” he replied. 

Jason thought about this for a moment then said, “Good, can I go play now?”

“Sure,” Jonathan said as he put Jason down.  He watched the boy walk out of the room and down the hall.  Looking at the floor, he saw the silver tray and its contents scattered on the carpet.  He picked everything up and gently placed it all back the way it had been on top of the dresser.  As Jonathan turned to leave, the pink bottle caught his eye.  “Lord I want to dream about her tonight, too,” he prayed as he picked up the delicate bottle, sprayed the perfume into the air and breathed in the fragrance.

For all of you who took part in the narrative writing class this summer…here’s my conflict narrative.  I think I’m going to keep  adding to it.  One of the characters, in particular, has intrigued me!  Although, I seem to miss more classes than I know I should (I work night shift and have an extremely hard time adapting my sleeping schedule- Sorry!) please know that my heart is with the guild even when the rest of my body is not!  That being said, I hope you’ll enjoy a little “Rain”.    Hazel

It rains on both the just and the unjust……..

     Lightening forked across a midnight gray sky.  Cherise stood on the deck of the weathered beach house and stared dazedly out to sea.  The wind assaulted her with violent blows as she dared to bare the elements that, at that moment, seemed to want to drive her from her perch.  R.J. watched the shadowy figure from across the street and several floors below.  He knew nothing short of a hurricane was going to chase her from the deck.  It was her special place.  She used it in order to clear her mind and right now she needed to think rationally. R. J. could tell from their prior encounter, her thoughts had become too cluttered, too emotional, too much for her to bare alone.  He hoped she wouldn’t jump to any conclusions about the situation before he had a chance to check it out.  ”Why did I get myself into this?  All I wanted was a quiet night at the beach. Hmm! I should have never answered the door.”  R.J. retreated from his thoughts long enough to answer the ringing phone.   

     ”Are you alone?”  asked a female voice.

     “Didn’t I say I was going to be alone?” R.J. huffed as he sat down on the edge of the daybed.

     “Don’t answer my question with a question!  I asked if you were alone!”  Click!  “R.J.! ….R.J.!  I can’t believe this! …What in the… ? What happened to the redial button?   Oh! … Oh!…Just wait!”  Ring!… Ring!….Ring!…Ring!…..Ring!…Ring! 

     R.J. sighed as he set down his beer and reached for the phone. “Call this number again and I’ll take out a warrant for harassing phone calls.” 

     “…..Well…I was just going to tell you the 11:00 news said a bad storm was headed that way. You shouldn’t even be at the beach tonight.  I don’t know what possessed you to–”

     “All I want is a quiet night.  I need to be by myself.”

     “What about me?  Don’t I need a quiet night by myself?” Click. 

     R.J. reached for the half-empty beer can and only after finishing it did he give any thought to what the whiny voice on the phone had said.  “Hmph!..if you want a quiet night, then shut your mouth.  It’s more than I could ever get you to do.” Ring!…Ring!R.J. didn’t bother to answer the phone before disconnecting the line from both the wall jack and the phone.  He smiled at the sweet uninterrupted sound of silence.  Peace was a hot commodity these days and one had to grab it anyway he could.  R.J. twirled the phone line in one hand as he strutted to the refrigerator to grab another beer.  “Whoo!  Maybe now I can get some sleep!”  Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the night time sky. R.J. held his breath in anticipation of what was to follow.   He had been in awe of thunder storms ever since he was a small boy.  The brilliant light show followed by its thunderous reception still gave him goose bumps. R.J. was not disappointed as roll after roll of deep bass filled his ears and even shook the pictures on the wall of the one-bedroom condo.  He walked back to the sliding glass doors at the front of the condo and once again his eyes were drawn up to the solo figure who stood so high above him, her still silhouette making a stark contrast to the night’s furor.  R.J. paused to think about the small woman whose hair and gown were now dancing wildly in the wind.  Cherise was a quiet sort of woman, not so much in the way she communicated, but in her whole demeanor.  She was poised.  She was a lady– a “church girl” at that.  R.J. smiled to himself as he imagined what his life might have been like if he had hooked up with a woman like that.  A sharp flash of lightening quickly brought him out of his daze.  It was not a night for daydreams.  Before retreating to the bedroom, R.J. locked the sliding glass doors and pulled the venetian blinds closed as the first drops of what was to become a torrential downpour splattered on the deck outside.

********

     Across the street and a few floors up, Cherise crumpled to her knees on the rain-soaked deck. She could no longer stand the onslaught of thoughts and images that had harangued her for months.  She had prayed for God to take her suspicions away.  She clearly needed some light shed on the situation.  Month after month had gone by with no revelation from God.  She didn’t know what to do.  She was scared the man who had become such a major part of her life was slowly but surely slipping away from her.  Cherise’s tears mingled with the rain as she drew herself up into a tight ball and began to rock back and forth.  She closed her eyes in an effort to shut out the images that played on the wide-screen of her mind.  It in no way helped.  She thought about her husband of ten years who suddenly had decided he needed a little space–a little more time to himself.  Cherise wailed when she thought of how only months before, she had been so excited when Eddie had started taking better care of himself.  He had started working out again and had even gone on a diet.  She had also noticed he had begun wearing a new cologne and was obsessed with his breath.  She first thought he was just going through a phase, however she had then started noticing other things that were unusual for Eddie.  He seemed to always want to go off on his own and the simplest of errands would take much longer than they should have.  Then she noticed Eddie was withdrawing a lot more cash from their account than usual.  He had no reasonable explanation for it.  He simply told her cash was so much quicker than cards.  He didn’t even try to explain the telephone hang-ups she had been receiving lately.  Then, of course, there was the moment last Sunday in church when she had sensed something that had almost made her heart stop.  She had caught her husband looking at a lady that had recently joined their church.  Cherise didn’t know much about her except she was a single mother of a little girl and seemed pretty emotionally needy. She was younger than Cherise and quite attractive.  Cherise had never been the jealous sort as far as Eddie was concerned.  Yet, something in their eyes told a tale Cherise did not care to hear.  Everything within her told her this young lady had something to do with the distance between her & Eddie.  This woman had to be the missing piece of the puzzle. 

     Cherise sobbed in the rain as image after image of Eddie and this young woman flashed before her closed eyes- some of them real- most of them imagined.  “I’ve got to know the truth.” she muttered to herself.  That’s why she had run across the street to Swagger Slank’s condo as soon as she had seen R.J.’s jeep parked underneath.  R.J. McKoy was a seasoned police officer and she was sure he would be able to help her out.  Also, the fact that he didn’t attend her church was a plus.  As far as she could tell, he didn’t attend church at all. He had seemed genuinely shocked when he opened the door and found her there, breathless and distraught.  He had listened patiently as she had gone on about Eddie and her suspicions- urging her to calm down more than once. There had been one bright spot in her evening, he had agreed to see what he could find out about Eddie.  R.J. McKoy was a no-nonsense kind of guy when it came down to business.  If anyone could discover the truth about Eddie and this woman, he could.  Cherise clung to the hope that R.J. would find some other explanation for Eddie’s change in behavior.  “Until I know for sure, there’s still hope….no matter how I may feel.”  Cherise continued to rock back and forth in the rain, seemingly numb to the elements that pounded her frail body.  As image after image continued to plague her mind, she silently prayed for the wind, rain, and thunder to drown out the sound of her sobs. Cherise pounded the soggy floor with her fists as she stayed put in the midst of her storm.  A cry of “Oh God….please ….please …help me!” was only drowned out by the angry roar of thunder.

                                           *****  

     A soaking Eddie James slid behind the wheel of his late model Toyota Camry.  He had run all the way from the foot of the steps of the apartment complex to what he had first thought was his gold Camry with tinted windows.  He was shocked into reality when the car alarm started going off and quickly realized it was not his vehicle.  A super-quick survey of the parking lot yielded the location of his vehicle and he sprinted towards it without a look back at the Camry whose blinking lights and blaring horn threatened to draw attention to him.  It had been a rough night for him both physically and emotionally.  Once again he was late going home.  However, Cherise had come to expect it…lately.  Eddie pushed away a gnawing thought….she didn’t even seem to care anymore.  At first, she was always asking questions and seemed to be searching for something in his eyes that she couldn’t seem to find.  Then one day, she stopped dead in her tracks and seemed to settle whatever was going on in her mind.  She had stopped looking into his eyes and had started looking at their bank account, his long absences, his excuses, lies, and alibis.  Cherise was suspicious.  Eddie couldn’t help but shiver in the car and reached to turn off the air condition.  However, the chill didn’t quite leave his body.  What would he tell her tonight, if she were still awake?  Probably, that he was out with his buddy Al after work and had gotten caught in the storm.  He pulled over and fell asleep in the rain.  Of course cell phone reception was horrid in the storm.  “Hmmph….that one couldn’t be disproved.” Eddie nodded his head and smiled as he drove down the deserted beach road.  It was late….but he had a story.  Thank God for the rain.  *

This is a diddy I wrote two years ago for my summer school students.

-Eric

Lightning

The twins, Jamil and Rashad, were bored. They had been at their Grandmother’s house in the country for almost a week. There was plenty to do when it was sunny, but this day it was dark and rainy. They sat in the upstairs bedroom looking out the window. Past the tall willow tree in Grandmother’s yard a thunder cloud was in the distance, heading toward them. They watched the lightning flashes get closer, and heard the thunder getting louder and louder.The lightning and thunder were fascinating.

Jamil thought for a minute. “In Science class Mr. DeVarno always said that lightning is attracted to things that are highest off the ground.”

Rashad nodded in agreement. “He also said metal rods attracted it, too.”

The lightning was striking closer and closer. The thunder shook their home.

Jamil turned to Rashad. “I bet you I could get lightning to strike this willow tree in Grandma’s yard.”

Rashad didn’t believe him. “How you gonna do that? You can’t make lightning strike where you want it.”

“Betcha I can!”

“What’ll you bet me?”

“Tonight’s your night to pick what we watch on TV. If I get lightning to strike that willow tree, I get to watch what I want.”

Jamil wanted to watch the Lakers in the Championship. Rashad wanted to watch “Bloody Death 3” on the Horror Channel. Rashad hated basketball, especially the Lakers. Jamil hated horror movies. They scared him so he couldn’t sleep.

Rashad liked the bet. “You can’t do it! You’re on!”

Lightning flashed and lit up their room. Thunder followed like an earthquake.

“Let’s go!” Jamil said. And they jumped up and ran downstairs and outside.

“What are you gonna do?” Rashad asked.

Jamil ran around the back of the house. Rashad followed. Jamil grabbed a ten foot long metal rod that was lying against Grandma’s house. They had played Ninja with it earlier in the week.

“When I get halfway up this willow tree,” Jamil said to his brother, “hand me up this rod.”

Jamil was an excellent climber. He climbed halfway up the willow tree in a flash. He looked down to Rashad, who held up the rod and handed it to Jamil. The lightning was flashing all around them. Thunder boomed. Jamil took hold of the rod and carried up further into the tall willow tree. Through the willow branches he held the rod straight up into the air. The top of the rod was five feet higher than the top of the willow tree. Jamil wedged the rod between the trunk and some branches. It did not move.

Rashad looked up at him and yelled, “You’re crazy! This will never work! We’ll be watching ‘Bloody Death 3’ tonight!”

Lightning struck nearby. Thunder shook them. Jamil started to climb down the willow. But halfway down, something happened. He started to tingle. The hair on his head started to stand up with electricity. Jamil was suddenly frightened. He climbed down another five feet, and then, like an action hero, jumped the rest of the way out of the tree. As he hit the ground with a thud and rolled past Rashad, a bolt of lightning struck the metal rod on the tree. There was an instant and deafening clap of thunder. The boys screamed, the tree exploded with fire and sparks, and Grandma’s willow split down the middle. The twins ran like lightning themselves into the house and watched the tree, split in two parts down its trunk and burning in the rain, through the window.

Grandma whipped their butts with a switch, but Jamil and Rashad watched the Lakers that night.