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Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Dawn

Dawn shakes off her cape of darkness,

dappling drowsy trees with a feathery touch.

She tiptoes from branch to branch in silver slippers

that flicker and flash through the leaves.

Her gray silk gown billows across the sky;

light glowing like white lace on its hem.

Like a lover reluctant to leave a tryst,

she lingers on the horizon, then

picks up her skirts and slips over the hills,

as the satisfied sun settles down

on the blue satin sheets of morning.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Swimming With the Gators

“So what’s the problem?” said Justin staring down, though having to look up at Ms. Millicent Falcon, his seemingly ancient 8th grade history teacher.

“You’re kidding right?” she said staring back at him. For a long moment they looked at each other. Ms. Falcon watching her prey, hands on hips, not willing to take guff from this hormonal and hyper jerk of a kid who always had a smart answer for everything.

“Well I got news for you BIRD…” he said.

She laughed, an honest laugh at his put down. “That’s BIRD OF PREY to you.” They stood and looked at each other again.

“I don’t see any problem." he said, "as far as I’m concerned it’s your problem not mine.”

“It really is NOT my problem,” she said in an almost smiling, light-hearted manner, “I’m not the one who’s gonna flunk this class.” After another moment she said, “You just might want to alert your mother that she won’t be too happy with your grade in this class, and it won’t do her any good to call me again when she sees your progress report card because there’s nothing I can do if you aren’t going to do the work.”

“Hell, she’ll do whatever she wants, and if she wants to call you she will and you better be nice to her.”

“Oh please,” she said with an exasperated laugh, “I’m pretty sure I’m a lot nicer to her than you ever are. If you wanted to be nice to her you’d start turning in your assignments, and pass your classes so she knows that when you’re older you’ll be able to take care of yourself.”

Justin made an exasperated ‘you’re such a fool’ sound with matching face. “I’m gonna be a famous musician and you’re gonna wish you’d been nicer to me.”

“I wish you luck. Oh, and by the way, you might want to start getting friendly with some of the seventh graders cause if you don’t pass this class they’ll be your new friends next year and you can impress the hell out of them with your delusions of grandeur.”

“Bull shit! There’s no fucking way I’ll be here next year. No fucking way.”

“Come on Justin, that’s enough with the language. It’s not impressive, and it’s not going to change anything.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” said Justin turning violently around and marching to the door. He turned to give her one more contemptuous last look before kicking the wall, actually her in effigy, and storming out the door.

Millicent Falcon shook her head, sighed, and began to jerk her shoulders back and forth, snaping her fingers and strutting around the room back toward her desk taking long strides, posing, and turning as she sang “umm, umm, ummmm, another one bites the dust…. Umm, umm, ummmm another one bites the dust and another one bites and another one bites and another bites the dust… chu chu chu”

As she got ready to drop into her chair she did a last little shimmy as she pointed and sang to the door Justin had exited still using the same tune. “Well you think that I care, but I really don’t. Oooo ooo ooo…another one bites the dust… I can’t care more about you then you care about yourself… Ewwwww! Another one bites the dust…”

Millie hadn’t noticed the 25 year old English teacher Joseph Lyons watching her dramatic dance and listening to her improvised song. He stood there laughing with a look of surprise and amazement on his face. He disappeared from the pod door that connected Millie’s room to the center computer room that was the hub of their four classroom pod.

He reappeared clutching something closely to his mid section. As the door opened, Millie heard his deep guffaw as she dropped into her chair. She smiled at him and pointing to the door sang “and another one bites the dust.”

“They don’t appreciate you enough around here. I wish I had your courage.”

“Not courage. I just like to have fun and I’m not going to let any of those little shits ruin my days. I like teaching, I like the kids, I’ll help them if they want help, but I don’t have to put up with or try to solve…” Her face dropped a little. “How much did you hear?”

“I was getting ready to grade some papers and heard some shouting and swearing and wondered what was going on.” After a moment he continued “But I did see the dance and hear the new and exciting version of ‘Another One Bites the Dust.’

“He inspires me.”

“Justin Stevenson?”

“Who else?”

“Oh there are others, but none so willing to swear at or in front of teachers.”

“He’s practicing to be a big rock star.”

“Did you tell him about your rock star days?”

Her brow furrowed and she blew air from her lips sounding a bit like a horse and looked, head cocked to the side at Joseph. “What are you taking about?” said asked with a sly smile.

He smiled and looked down at the old LP cover in his hands. His smile broadened as he turned the cover to her. “This. I knew this was you, but I didn’t know how to ask. I’ve had this in my drawer all year waiting for a chance to ask and…” he looked at her blushing a little “seeing if you would sign it.”

She silently got up and in an unsaid exchange gingerly took the album from Joe. She looked at the front of the cover, her 18 year old self, pink hair, torn jeans, tie-dyed, scissor attacked, off the shoulder tee-shirt on stage with her band, a collection of long haired, wild New York kids who had had a 30 minute hay day almost 40 years earlier. The words in lightning bolt script screamed LIVING PROOF The 1st Album. Bravado on their part; they were sure there would be dozens and they had intended to name them by number. They fantasized and drew the cover for the 100th Album. She turned the album around and looked at the pictures and text on the back.

Her expression was hard for Joe to decipher. He thought he saw a combination of sadness and excitement and all of it trying to hide under a cover of confusion. “Where did you get this?”

“So it IS you!!”

“Where did you get it, there weren’t ever that many around and you weren’t even born when it was made.”

“It was my dad’s. I went through his collection a few years ago and took some that looked like fun. It’s been on my shelf forever. I like it. “ Swimming with the Gators” is a great song.

“I’m gonna fish you out of the swimming pool

One more time you’re such a fool.

Dealing with danger every day,

Swimmin’ with the gators… Yowww!

She watched him, eyes wide, almost gawking as he sang and pretended to play guitar and jumped around the room probably doing a good imitation of her 18 year old self.

She began to laugh and said “Not such a great song, really. It’s not.”

“You know, if the kids knew…”

“Woeho… na na na na na. Not a good idea. Not a good idea at all.” She said handing back the album. “You haven’t shared this, shared your suspicions with anyone, have you?”

“Umm…”

“Oh shit. Who did you tell?”

“Just Marlie and Jean. They’re in our pod. They wanted me to ask. I played it for them. They really liked it Millie.”

Millie plopped back into her chair and dropped her head on her arms shaking her head.

“I’m sorry,” said Joe. “I didn’t mean…”

She looked at him sighing and shook her head. “It’s okay. It’s okay, but please, I really really really don’t want this getting out to the kids or the other teachers.”

“Why? It’s something to be proud of.”

“Joe, that’s not for you to decide. Besides, it’s not ME any more. I do not want to have to explain or talk about my past and the people I knew and what it was like.” Millie started to pace the room. Joseph just silently watched her and waited. “That part of my life is so over,” she paused and paced for a minute and then stopped and looked over at him standing at the opposite side of the classroom. She was quiet and pensive when she began to speak. “Truthfully, and I’ll have to kill you if you repeat this, when I think about it or talk about it I wonder why I left and I start having regrets and it’s just too hard for me. I know that’s probably hard for you to understand, but please. I’m glad you like it. It was fun and maybe someday we can talk about it…”

Joe nodded and looked at her thoughtfully. He looked at the album and then back at her. “Would you sign it?”

She started to laugh, “Yes, yes, yes. Give it to me. I’d be happy to sign it. I can’t believe this.” She said laughing and moving quickly to her desk. She sat down, took the album and pulled a gold Sharpie from her drawer. “I only use this pen for very special things. Where do you want me to sign?”

He pointed to a space on the front and she looked up at him. “Do you want me to sign it to you?” she asked and began to giggle.

Joe’s face lit up and they both began laughing. He sounded like a star struck teenager when he responded, “Sure. That would be great!”

“You know you won’t get anything for this on e-bay, right?”

He laughed and said in a very solemn manner, “I’ll never let it go. It’s a prized possession. My dad can’t even have it back.”

She looked up at him, his face sincere, his smile big and she wrote ‘to a great friend and a wonderful teacher. With love, Millie Bird.’ “How did you know it was me? I didn’t even use the same name.”

“I hope you take this as a complement; you don’t look that different, really. And Bird, Falcon, just figured that maybe…”

“Joseph you should have been a detective!”

“It was a thought… way back when. All those CSI shows have to affect a person at least a little. So you miss it sometimes? Playing music?”

“I still play music. I have almost three thousand songs on my i-tunes – everything from rock to classical to country. Now I love teaching. I always wanted to do something with my life that would make a difference. I had some teachers when I was young who were really important to me and here I am.”

“Yeah, but music can really be important and make a difference to people who enjoy it.”

She shook her head. Her lips were pursed and it seemed to Joseph that she was no longer anywhere near Robert Kennedy Junior High.

Not wanting to just sneak out, but also not wanting to interrupt her reverie, Joe quietly said, “I’ve gotta grade some papers. Thanks for this,” he said pointing to the album. I won’t tell anyone, except maybe my dad.”

She shook her head and indicated that she had papers to grade too. “Later.” She said in a small voice.

“See ya,” he said slipping out of the room.

Millie sat at the desk, clicked on her i-tunes icon, and scrolled through her play list. She clicked in the middle of a list of classical music, but was humming ‘another one bites the dust’ as she began to read the first paper. She looked up, looked out the door, and scrolled again through her list stopping at a different song. The guitar sounded with a loud clanging beat and she heard her 18 year old voice start to sing “I’m gonna fish you out of the swimming pool/One more time you’re such a fool/Dealing with danger every day…

She joined in singing softly but passionately, Swimmin’ with the gators…

She smiled and started to write a comment on her first paper.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Checking In

Here's an excerpt from a collection of stories set in a tiny midwestern farm town like the one my mother grew up in. It's a place where everyone knows everyone else's business, but where they also take looking after one another very seriously.


I picked my way through the weeds around the side of John and Mary Beth’s house and up the stairs to the back porch, being careful not to trip and fall. At my age a fall can turn your life around, and I wasn’t ready to head in that direction.

I still thought of it as John and Mary Beth’s house, even though Mary Beth left this world over a year ago. It was on a Monday in that steaming July heat wave, when no one could catch a breath. That’s when Mary Beth took an iced tea and her Country Woman magazine out to the screened-in summerhouse, sat down on the glider and died. Just like that. Only the day before she’d been the picture of health, serving up her fried chicken and mashed potatoes to us all for Sunday dinner. Oh, happy days gone by, as my mother used to say.

After the viewing, the funeral service, the burial and the reception at the First Christian Church, and after the family and closest friends had left John and Mary Beth’s house, Fanny and I washed up the dishes, put away the casseroles and wiped off the counters. John had retreated to the coolness of the basement by the time Fanny and I hollered our goodbyes.

Problem was, he was still there. All this time later he was still holed up away from life. Little by little John set up housekeeping in the cellar. First he moved a sofa and TV down there. Then a hot plate so he could warm up some Campbell’s chicken noodle or cream of tomato. He already had a second refrigerator, where he kept his supply of Imperial margarine, the stick kind, not the tub. Row after row of Imperial one-pound boxes were stacked up ‘til there wasn’t room for anything else. The man loved his margarine. And his Wonder Bread, slathered with Imperial and Mary Beth’s homemade peach preserves.

If John Reynolds ate anything else since Mary Beth passed, it most likely came from me or Fanny. We felt as if it was up to us to make sure he was getting some nourishment and making it through okay. We owed it to Mary Beth, her having been taken away so sudden-like, to look after the one she left behind. Now it was all up to me to tend to John, what with Fanny coming down with the Alzheimer’s two months ago and having to go into the nursing home.

So here I was again, knocking on the back screen door, checking in. I could hear the TV blaring up from the basement, so I yelled my greeting a little louder than normal.

“YOO HOO. John, are you down there? It’s me, Gertie. YOO HOO.”

All I heard was explosions and gunfire. John was watching that war movie on the VCR again. How could a person watch the same war over and over as if it were new every time? I know for a fact it used to drive Mary Beth crazy. I yelled into the house a little louder.

“John? I’m going up to the Wal-Mart in Salem and I thought you might want to go along. John?”

More gunfire, more explosions answered me. I almost gave up and let him be, but the stairs to the basement were right across from the back door, and I caught a glimpse of him climbing the stairs, first his gray wispy hair, then his pale face, then his dull white T-shirt and jeans. He wore his usual scowl.

“I heard ya,” he grumbled. “Where’d ya say you were headed?”

“Over to the Wal-Mart. Would you like to keep me company? I could use the company.” This might have been a lie, as I wasn’t so sure I wanted him tagging along. But I was on a mission to get John Reynolds out of the house, and I was starting to feel the tug of Mary Beth from beyond the grave to set her husband straight.

“Well, I’ve got my show to watch, don’t ya know,” John said, studying his dark blue corduroy slippers. “It’s just gettin’ to the good part.”

“How many times you watched that movie?” I asked him.

“Dunno,” he said without looking up.

He was ashamed, I thought. Ashamed of hiding away in the basement. Ashamed of not living his life. Well, he should be ashamed. I’d been checking in on John Reynolds for over a year now, and I never got him farther than the back porch. He ate my beef stew and he ate my cherry pie and he asked me to get his darned sticks of Imperial margarine and Wonder Bread, which I did gladly. But I couldn’t get John out of the house and back into a real life to save my soul. I’d about had enough.

“Well, I think you know that movie by heart by now,” I said, “and I think it’ll be the same the next fifty-two times you watch it, and I think you should get up out of that basement and get some sun on that pasty skin of yours!”

I was so worked up I surprised myself. My heart pounded. I felt my eyes well up, but fought back the tears. What would Mary Beth think? How could I ever face my friend in the next world if I didn’t get her husband back on track in this one? I stared a hole through the screen door at that man.

John raised his eyes from the ground and looked around the kitchen before he looked at me, then past me toward the summerhouse. His jaw was set tight and I thought he was going to explode like one of the bombs in his movie. But his eyes told a different story. There was a struggle there I hadn’t ever seen in John before, and I started to feel like I’d overstepped my bounds, being so firm with him.

“Mary Beth’s peach preserves are gone,” he said. “I suppose I need some more preserves.”

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose you do.”

He stood there like a statue, staring at the summerhouse, then at me, like he was seeing me for the first time.

“Well, are you comin’?” I said, holding my breath. “Time’s a wasting’”

He held my gaze for a long time, and then looked down at his slippers.

“I guess I should put some hard soles on,” he said softly.

He turned away, disappeared down the hallway and came back with his boots. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, sat down and slowly laced up his boots. He grabbed his John Deere hat from the wall hook, took a deep breath and looked up at me, standing just beyond the screen door.

“Well, what are ya waitin’ for? Let’s go if we’re goin’,” he said.

And John Reynolds finally opened up the screen door and stepped out into the light of day.

Copyright Liz Zuercher 2011