Author: Mihaela Mateescu

The Curse of the Fourth Gypsy

3e40e981f7da26f307f783c41fef87fcThis is not writer’s block! You can’t have writer’s block if you’re not actually a writer, Thomas finally put his ginger head in his hands and sighed as his shoulder blades gave in under the weight of his thoughts. I’m a failure, I’m just a failure, always have, always will, my mother was so right! He sank deeper and deeper into the vicious muddy waters of negative thinking that nothing can stop from unravelling.

He looked up and, through the stained blinds hanging in front of him, in fact just a piece of dirty fabric he had nailed above the corners of the window frame, he could see the beach in the distance, and even the waves curling up and down, in and out on the shiny sand. He watched the tourists for a while, and then thought he got a new idea. He held the pencil so tight his knuckles whitened, and he began writing furiously: “It was night on the beach.” He then stopped, read the sentence and chuckled, I’m such an idiot, night on the beach? All the textbooks say you gotta start with a hook!

He had been trying to write a novel for months, after one of his short stories had won an amateur writers’ contest in an online magazine. One anonymous reader had called it “a great piece of writing”, and Thomas had found that to be all he needed to call himself a writer. Against his parents’ advice, he had quit his insignificant clerk employment in an insignificant warehouse, he had rented a cabin on the beach, and every day since then, he had tried to write something new, something that would make everyone stand in awe of his greatness.

Except he couldn’t come up with anything right enough. He would start a sentence, stare at it for a second, and then the pencil would come down and blacken every single word into nothingness. He would say to himself that he just needed a little bit of inspiration, so he would go out on long walks looking for it. He would wonder around the local beaches for hours, watching the street vendors, talking to random people who seemed as lonely as he felt, listening to the music coming for sidewalk bars, and wishing he could afford to sit down somewhere and enjoy a cup of stove-top coffee. Nothing seemed to work. The more he thought about it, the more desperate he became.

Today would be no different. “It was night on the beach” became a splotch of dark lead, right before his hands grabbed the piece of paper and crumpled it until it turned into a small and wrinkled nothing. He sighed again, and decided it was time for his walk. He also decided that, during his walk, he would settle on how long he would continue trying to be a writer. He couldn’t afford being a disappointment anymore. He was perfectly capable of going back to his old boss to beg for his job back. He envisioned the man’s cruel laughter and the humiliation, and the thought made him shudder.

He came out of his cabin and headed for the beach again, as he had done every day for a while. He passed willow trees and groups of tourists basking in the sun. He could hear the waves singing over the human voices, and he could feel the sun somehow warmer than ever before. As he walked, tiny beads of sweat started forming on his scalp and soon enough, they were sliding down to his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped them away with the bottom of his shirt, and continued walking as the sun continued to shine hotter and brighter. Pretty soon, the heat made him yearn for a place in the shade, under one of the willow trees now still as stones for the lack of wind.

As he headed for the willows, he couldn’t help but notice something that seemed just a bit out of place, something colorful among the branches and elongated leaves, something that attracted him ominously and propitiously at the same time. He couldn’t quite understand how he was able to listen to a thought that warned him and a thought that enthralled him, both in the very same fraction of a second, both supported by their own separate sensations, both screaming loudly in his head and trying to convince him of the truth.

With another wipe of the forehead he chased those thoughts away and felt like he was making his own decision to keep walking towards the willows, to find out whatever amazing thing hid among them. He reached them presently, and reached his hand up to remove curly branches out of his way. The more he tried, the more it became like trying to go through quicksand, leaves falling on his face, or wrapping around his ankles, slapping him over the mouth, and trying to poke his eyes out. He eventually made it through, after what seemed like hours, which in itself was a mystery because he knew, he just knew how many willows there were in that particular spot, and he knew it couldn’t take him hours to walk through to the other side.

Unfamiliar sounds made him stop and listen carefully. As he listened, he realized he could make out the shape of a tent not far from him. The sounds definitely came from there. He followed the music and reached the tent easily, as if the willows were charmed and they knew to clear the way for him. He paused in front of the abode for a few seconds, and considered whether to even touch the sunburnt fabric. As if his hands weren’t under his command anymore, they both started moving to open a door for him. A sweet and buttery smell of sandalwood enveloped him quickly, and before he knew it, he was inside, in darkness, but not in silence, as he could now clearly hear the music of the pan flute.

Before his eyes could adjust, flickers of light began popping out of nowhere. With their help, he was able to start glancing around, while not being able to shake the feeling that something strange was about to occur. He took a few steps forward and finally started noticing the details around him. This is not just a tent, it can’t be, he thought as he could see the five foot five walls covered in a rainbow of hand-made tapestries. Ottomans reminiscent of the Turkish Empire decorated the floor, and various-size hookahs seemed to be waiting for someone to use them. How is this possible? This is not right, this is supposed to be just a tent, he started to fear that he was losing his mind.

But he kept going, a few more steps, a few more ottomans and hookahs, a couple of heavy curtains he almost had to fight, and finally he saw them. Lying down on red velvet sofas, with long, curly hair braided with golden coins, with lipstick a little bit too red for his taste and dresses to match, gypsy women were gathered around a deck of tarot cards which one of them handled effortlessly. Three of them, more beautiful than any women he had ever seen, a beauty even the flamboyance of their dress couldn’t disguise. He froze for a few seconds, and realized he was afraid to breathe. He was intruding upon a private tarot reading, and he knew that was an insult. Still, he couldn’t make his body move anymore. He watched them for what seemed like hours, mesmerized, enthralled, aroused, and most of all, completely enchanted.

After a long while, he felt beady sweat on his forehead again, and instinctively wiped it off. The sound of his hand going to his forehead seemed to hit the walls of the room and reverberate all over. It instantly attracted the attention of the women, who first looked up at him, then glanced at each other, then smiled as if they knew some kind of secret he didn’t, then made it to their feet in one swift movement and surrounded him before he could do anything at all.

“I’m… I’m so, so sorry,” he barely whispered and bowed his head. “I… I seem to have lost my way, I thought…” he stuttered and that made the women laugh.

“No, no, you’re in the right place,” the one to speak first seemed to be the oldest, although you could never tell the age of a gypsy woman.

“Yes, let us take care of you,” the second one chimed in while taking his hand and caressing it as a lover would.

“Are you looking for love, darling?” the third one pulled him away from the others, and started spinning him around in a dance he couldn’t prevent.

“No, no, I just… I just… I just want to go, I didn’t mean to intrude,” he still stuttered and the women still laughed at it.

“But you’re not intruding at all,” the first one continued and her eyes squinted as she measured him up and down, trying to see inside his soul.

“We were waiting, we were just waiting, the cards told us you’d come, we already knew,” the second one smiled seductively.

“I will love you, I will love you forever if you want, darling,” said the third, “All you have to do is say so.”

He knew something was wrong. He knew he needed to get out of there. Foreboding sensations were plaguing his entire body, he could feel his heart racing as it always did when he was scared out of his mind, he could tell his hands were shaking violently no matter how much he tried to hide them under his shirt. He didn’t even dare look anywhere other than into their eyes, one at a time but in random order, as they kept whispering things he couldn’t make out. He didn’t understand how fear and sexual arousal could share his body at the same time, and he disliked both. He wanted to run away, but he didn’t move, he couldn’t move. He stood there, surrounded by colorful skirts and golden-coin braids, glancing at their lips as the three started chanting together, first with a hum-like sound, then with words he didn’t know the meaning of.

“What do you desire most?” All three sang, as if they had rehearsed it over and over until synchronizing every single sound that came out from their beautiful mouths.

“Nothing, I don’t desire anything, I just want to go, please, I…” he managed the few words while writhing his hands together in pleading gestures.

“You walked in here all on your own. Whether you know it or not, you want something. Now, what is it?” the first gypsy almost snarled with a new demeanor, that of one who is about to lose patience and temper.

“Yes, you better tell us before my sister… well, she gets that way sometimes. And you don’t want to see her that way,” the second added quickly, as if she really did care about his fate.

“Come on, darling, there must be something,” the third’s voice floated warm around him, touching his skin and heart.

Thomas had no idea what they were talking about, he truly did believe this was either just a dream, or he had suffered a heat stroke, as nothing else could have explained the theatrical and outlandish nature of what was happening to him. This was all too much. Like a dream. Like a dream, he thought and then, out of nowhere, the idea came to him. What if? Oh, what if? What if I do ask for what I want?

As if they knew the thought that was forming, the three gypsies became quiet and simply backed away, just a few feet away, to give him enough room to express himself.

“Well, since I’m here… Can you… Oh no, this is so stupid, no one can do that…”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

All three in a chorus, all three voiced the question as one, curious but still patient. They knew it was never easy for people to believe they could make wishes come true. They had seen it happen a million times before, they had seen the wonder and disbelief, the questions on their faces, the doubt in their hearts, but above all, the absolute desire that this would be true. There had not been one human who didn’t eventually believe it. And so their magic worked every single time. They just needed to be patient, some times more than others.

Thomas still thought about it for a second. If they really could make his wish come true, then he would get what he always wanted, to finally write something so wonderful entire nations would rejoice in and praise, and prostrate to his genius as they did to their own gods. If it wasn’t true, then what did he have to lose? He would walk out of the tent, he would go back to his little cabin, gather his things and go home. Either way, he figured it was worth a try.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to be a writer, I want to write something so great that it’ll put the world at my feet, with everything that entails, the fame and the riches, the women and anonymous admirers, the fans and the parties, I want it all!” He said it all in one sentence, as if interrupting it would have broken a spell. He could already feel the anticipation rising inside him, he could hear the applause and the roar of the crowds gathered to catch a glimpse of him on the way to a book signing. He smiled, oblivious to the expressions on the faces of the three sisters.

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it,” the first one snickered.

“Yes, it is something, but it can be done,” the second said pleasantly.

“Shall we?”

The third one looked at the other two, and then, again in one voice, all three whispered, “Well need our other sister for this one”, the whole time smiling to themselves.

From behind a curtain Thomas hadn’t even noticed before, the fourth gypsy appeared as the three parted to make way for her. She was nothing like the three sisters; her lips were fuller, her hair with longer braids and heavier gold coins, her eyes more intense than any others, her magic inherently stronger.

She walked lightly, as if almost floating upon an invisible wave of air, she smiled as she reached her arms out for him. Thomas could do nothing to stop from being pulled towards her. His body obeyed her commands, and with a few steps, he was so close that he could sense the sweet smell of her lipstick. He tried to break eye contact, but his optical nerves refused. He was completely under her spell. She touched his face, grabbing his chin and moving his head to the left and to the right, as if to measure his worth by the look of his face, and then the fourth gypsy spoke:

“Are you sure that is what you want, Thomas? Have you considered it all? Have you?”

Even if he wanted to deny it, he was unable to. All he could do was look her in the eye, and then nod, fearful again, but hopeful at the same time.

“You have to say the words, Thomas, you have to say it,” she urged him.

“I’m sure! I’m sure it’s what I want!” he blurted out.

What happened next, he never really knew. He found himself between cream silk bed sheets when he woke up. The room was luxurious, just the way he had dreamed about so many times. Blinding natural light came in through enormous French windows, and there was hum of activity coming from below. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, as if trying to make sure this was not a dream. He pinched his arm, and shouted in pain. Still not believing, he started getting out of bed when a door to his right opened and his mother came through.

“There he is, my famous writer,” she approached the bed while trying to balance the breakfast tray on her arthritic hands. “Did you sleep well, my darling boy?” She smiled and set the tray next to him. “You need to eat something, your biggest book signing is today,” she motioned towards the eggs Benedict and freshly-squeezed orange juice.

Thomas never gave a second thought to the gypsies’ tent. He never wondered about the book he had written so unexpectedly and without even knowing it. He didn’t question anything at all. He had gotten his wish, and all he had to do was enjoy it. And enjoy, he did. Over the next decades, he harvested the fruits of the spell, he travelled the world to countries that adored him and proclaimed him “the greatest writer that ever lived”, he married and had children who enjoyed his fortune as well, he gambled and lost everything several times, although the money never stopped coming. His book broke all records known to man, and generations after generations bought it and read it, over and over again.

The night before his ninetieth birthday, he remembered the beach. He had never thought about it again, and he didn’t know why he was thinking about it now. There was something in his thoughts that didn’t belong to him, this desire to go back there and see if the tent still existed. He made the appropriate arrangements in the middle of the night, and he stood on that beach on his birthday. He found the tent exactly where he knew it would be, among the willows. Somehow, everything still looked the same. It just seemed that time hadn’t affected the place at all, as if it had just passed over it, ignoring it on purpose.

As he walked in, he recognized the tapestries and the ottomans, he smelled the sandalwood again, and he heard their voices. On their red velvet sofas, the three gypsies were reading the cards. As if they knew he was there, they looked up, smiled at each other, and quickly surrounded him. They were unchanged.

“Well?”

“Well?”

“Well?”

“How was it? Did you like it? Was it everything you thought it would be? Are you ready to come back now?”

Their words didn’t make much sense. Come back from what? Thomas wondered.

The gypsies danced around him to the sounds of the pan flute. As their skirts whirled and twirled, as they chanted again and whispered words he couldn’t make out, he became confused and scared, as he had been when he first entered the tent. In front of him, the fourth gypsy appeared out of nowhere.

“Yes, you are ready to come back, I see it,” she uttered in a low voice as she touched his face. This time, her touch felt different. It hurt. Her fingers ran slowly over his skin, and he felt tired. His body was heavy, and his legs couldn’t support its weight anymore. He blamed it on old age, as he sat down on the floor, overwhelmed and sleepy.

He was all alone when he woke up. The tent was gone, only the willows remained. He tried to get up and he felt pain in his old legs. He looked at himself and saw the shirt he wore that day, when he was young, when he only wished he would write a great novel. No one else was around. He became furious at the thought his staff abandoned him there. What kind of prank is this? He managed to get up and start walking. He didn’t recognize places, nor buildings, nor people. He walked and walked, until he finally reached a somewhat familiar house. It was his old cabin, now abandoned and in ruins. On the sidewalk, a homeless woman drank out of a brown bag, what he could only imagine was cheap liquor.

“Excuse me, do you live around here?” He asked and immediately felt stupid. It’s been too long, she wouldn’t know anything.

“I’ve lived around here all my life. What do you want?” The woman’s voice sounded harsh but somehow familiar.

“I was just wondering if… well, a friend of mine used to live in this house when we were young… I was just wondering what ever happened to him.”

The woman finally looked straight at him, and to his surprise, she started laughing hysterically.

“Oh, you mean the wanna-be writer?”

“The wanna-be writer?” Thomas was even more confused than before. “What do you mean the wanna-be writer? He was… is a famous writer,” he tried to convince the woman.

She continued laughing.

“No, you’re wrong, that young man just disappeared one day. No one could ever find him, no one knows what happened to him… that’s something, isn’t it?”

Thomas was in complete disbelief. He didn’t know what was happening. It couldn’t be, I don’t understand what she’s saying…

He left the woman and continued walking. In his mind, the past decades mixed with despair and teased him mercilessly. He didn’t know what was real and what was not. He didn’t know where to go. He just didn’t know anything anymore. He was old, at the end of his life, and it was a life he had never lived. Or had he? He continued walking while trying to figure things out.

Behind him, the homeless woman laughed. The fourth gypsy had done it again. One more mortal fooled, one more soul taken. She was insatiable, that one was! She raised her bottle and drank to her honor.

The Fosters

September 3, 2012

“You can’t make me do this, bitch!” The red-headed boy yelled at the teacher right before he proceeded to scream as loudly as he could, knowing well that screaming was the one most annoying thing for his teachers. If he added turning his desk over and banging wildly on the board, everything was perfect. He could get out of doing anything in school today, and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

The teacher looked down at the shining surface of her desk, Oh Lord, it’s gonna be one of those days.

As the red-head youngster screamed and hollered, the teacher held her head in her hands, still looking down, and almost began to cry. She knew the day wouldn’t get any better, she knew she had made the mistake of letting the boys know they could get to her. She knew she would never be able to control them again, if she ever had.

She began thinking about the only glimmer of hope left in her life: to be a mother again. Her own children, a boy and a girl, already teenagers, didn’t seem to need her anymore. Or so they told her every time she had lately tried to talk to them about anything. She was completely shut out of their lives, and she didn’t know how to tell them how much that hurt. To add more to this misery, her husband seemed to be more interested in the deer hunting season that had just opened up again. He left home for days on end, spending them in the woods with his drunken buddies, completely uninterested in his home life. He knew Anna, his wife, would always be there. He knew she had never had a will of her own, and that she would never dare even say anything about his neglect. He finally had all the time he wanted to himself. His kids were grown, basically adults, they could take care of themselves. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined what would happen to his family.

September 10, 2012

On a chilly Monday morning, bright and early, Anna walked with quicker steps than she ever thought she could manage toward the grey, stern-looking building of the CPS office. A case manager and a supervisor in the adoption unit were waiting for her in a small room, well-lit, with nothing but a round table and a couple of chairs as furniture. As she walked in the room, Anna was greeted by the two women she had never met in person before. Their phone conversations had been ongoing for the past two months, ever since Anna had decided she wanted to adopt a child, a child who had not had a mother in more than ten years, a child who would surely be grateful for a chance at a normal family.

“Welcome, it’s nice to finally meet you. My name is Trina Martinez, I’m the supervisor for this case, and this is Joyce Middleton, Tommy’s adoption worker,” she motioned toward the other woman who was walking toward Anna with her hand reaching out. “Please, have a seat, and let’s get started, Mrs. Foster.”

Anna felt intimidated. The two women, both tall and slender, dressed well in business suits and with hair and makeup all perfect, appeared very formal and rigid. She didn’t know how she was supposed to act, she didn’t know if she could just start talking to them about how much she already loved Tommy, she had never been in that situation before. She was embarrassed, as usual, by her overweight figure barely contained by the clothes she thought would be appropriate for this meeting. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to express everything she felt inside for Tommy. She was afraid she would be denied and told that her poor job as a mother and housewife up to that point in her life would stand in the way of her dreams.

She waited submissively for the other party to set the tone. She decided she wouldn’t say anything that might ruin her chances at motherhood again. These people didn’t need to know about the troubles she was having at home, about her own children dismissing her as useless, and about her husband who admired deer more than he had ever admired his wife and had thus refused to accompany her in what he laughingly called “her delusion.”

Ms. Middleton began talking about Tommy and about his childhood. Anna heard again about how the 14-year-old boy was born in a different state and abandoned in front of a church when he was 3 years old, about how he had been through fourteen foster homes without finding a permanent one, and about how he had been in a mental health institution several times because he heard voices telling him to hurt people. While Ms. Middleton went on with details about Tommy’s life and about the horrific things he had done before, Anna thought she didn’t need to know all that. All she needed to know was that Tommy wanted to be her son, and that he wanted to be loved as much as she wanted to love him. Deep in her heart, she knew there was nothing that love couldn’t compensate for and overcome. She knew all she needed was a little patience, the strong belief that everything would work out alright, and that she would be happy being a mother again.

After the meeting was over, and the parties had agreed that one last visit at Anna’s home was in order before Tommy could move there, Anna thought about skipping work and celebrating the success of the morning. She was experiencing such happiness that she couldn’t even begin to describe it to herself. Surely her colleagues would understand. Surely they would forgive her for taking some time to be alone with this overwhelming feeling that she had finally done something right. But they wouldn’t be able to handle the boys by themselves. She had not considered this the day before, when she still would have had time to call for a substitute. She had to go to work, she couldn’t mess everything up now by just not showing up. She drove slowly, trying to think hard about how she would word the announcement that it was almost over and final: Tommy would become her son within the month. By the time she arrived at work, she still had not found words better than “Tommy is gonna move in by the end of the month.”

The residential treatment facility grounds appeared quiet as she drove up the dirt road to where she parked her truck every day. She could see the horses walking around down by the pond, where ducks and geese had finally found a home away from the boys who loved to pull their feathers out for fun. The one peacock recently acquired was displaying his tail and doing the mating dance with a hen, for lack of a female of his own species.

Anna took a moment to breathe in the quiet and the morning aroma of the flowers before heading for the yellow school building where her future son, along with the other residents, was studying. She wasn’t looking forward to another day of being yelled at by children who were unable to handle the most insignificant of frustrations, she was afraid that one of these days she would snap and slap one of them, she was afraid that she was no good at her job. As she walked into the building, she tried hard to remember what she was supposed to teach them this time. Was it about the atom? She couldn’t remember well, and she hoped her materials would be where she had left them the day before, in the drawer of her classroom desk.

As she walked into the first classroom, the boys looked up at her and suddenly it seemed that each one had the most important thing to share with her. They started talking all at the same time, some voices higher than others. She motioned to them to be quiet, even though she knew it wouldn’t work. It didn’t. By the time she reached the door of her own room, the boys surrounded her followed by the voice of the principal, who was trying in vain to get them settled down again. Anna entered her classroom, shutting the door behind her as quickly as she could. She needed to get ready to teach, so she headed straight for the desk where her materials were. She took out her textbooks and notes, and then, when everything was arranged in almost perfect order on her desk, she called for the 6th grade group.

The boys entered the classroom as they always did, yelling and pushing each other so they could grab the best seat. They didn’t pay any attention when Anna instructed them to sit down and keep quiet. They didn’t pay any attention when she called individual names, asking them to settle down and open their books. They didn’t pay any attention when she started raising her voice, yet again, knowing that it would only make things worse. She never had understood why raising her voice never seemed to have any effect on these boys. If anything, that always made things worse and brought out the side of them that she always feared, the cold looks, the smirks, and the “You can’t make me do this, bitch” attitude they so loved to display.

Eventually, she sat down at her desk and waited. She was tired of trying things that never worked, and she was tired of finding rational explanations for their behaviors. She didn’t know many details about their lives as abandoned and abused children, but she knew they had all been through things that no child should ever experience, and that their past had always been an excellent excuse for the way they acted. She wondered if her own children showed the same disrespect for their teachers. She wondered if she had failed as a mother more than she could even begin to understand, but she consoled herself with the thought that soon she would get another chance.

When she got home that day, her happiness hadn’t worn off. She was so excited and couldn’t wait to share everything with her husband. She continued to believe that he was just having a hard time adjusting to the idea of having yet another rebellious, eternally demanding teenager in his home, and she refused to believe that there was any truth to all the harsh words he had had for her since she had started the adoption process.

Her husband was on his way out as she entered the house. He told her not to wait up, that he would be at his friend Billy’s house if anything happened, and that there was a message on the house phone for her. He then slammed the door behind him, and she could hear the exhaust on his truck as he drove away. Under any other circumstances, she would have been upset by the way he ignored her; of course, not upset enough to say something, but enough to make a mental note that he shouldn’t treat her like that. She didn’t bother making any mental notes this time, and decided that she wouldn’t let anything ruin her day. She walked over to the small coffee table in the corner of the living room, and listened to the message: “This is Dr. Conners, Tommy’s psychiatrist. I would very much like to meet with you before Tommy’s adoption is final. If you would, please call my office and set up an appointment with my secretary. Thank you!”

She didn’t understand what that was about, as far as she knew all the formalities had been handled, including various visits with this psychiatrist, but she told herself she would call first thing in the morning and have the meeting set up as soon as possible. Her heart started beating a little bit faster when she realized there really was no reason for this meeting. She hoped nothing had come up; she hoped no one would tell her she couldn’t be Tommy’s mom. She went to the bedroom, closed the door behind her, and then looked at the big golden clock mounted on her dresser. She had about half an hour before the kids would come back from school. She took out her Bible from the nightstand drawer, went down to her knees by her bed, and began praying for guidance and strength to face anyone who would stand in her way. God would surely help her through all this, it was God who had given her the idea in the first place. She had to trust Him and have faith.

The visit with the psychiatrist never took place.

October 1, 2012

Seated around the dinner table, the members of Anna’s family were eating in silence, barely looking at each other and completely ignoring the dark-haired boy who would not stop smiling at them. Mr. Foster, a tall and slender man of 42, with tattoos baring witness of a short stay in state prison in his youth, was chewing the beef and potatoes with the same thought he always had when his wife cooked anything, This is disgusting, I gotta get me something before I see the guys tonight. He pretended to eat for a few minutes more, then he stood up while pushing the plate away, walked over to the couch where he had lazily thrown his jacket earlier in the day, and grabbed it on the way to the door. “Don’t wait up for me,” he said while slamming the door behind him.

Anna smiled at Tommy as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on. She refused to let anything upset her, now that she finally had her new child at home. She had been looking forward to the first family dinner after Tommy’s arrival, and she had expected more positive reactions from everyone, but she was determined not to let anything bring her down.

“So, how was school today?” she asked Brine and Jersey, her 14-year-old daughter and 15-year-old son.

They both looked at her and didn’t say anything. Inevitably, their eyes moved over to Tommy but their mouths remained closed. As if given a signal, they got up from the table without asking for permission, almost threw their dishes in the sink without bothering to dispose of the left-over food, and together went to Jersey’s room. They had been having long conversations before Tommy had arrived, they had been debating whether they should become closer and unite against this common enemy, and they had decided that it was time to really behave like siblings and take care of each other more than they had in the past. “If that piece of shit does anything to you, I’ll kill him,” Jersey had told Brine when she had mentioned that the way Tommy looked at her made her extremely uncomfortable. They closed the door to Jersey’s room after hanging a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, and they sat down to talk some more about their plans to protect themselves and each other from this intruder they now had to call ‘brother.’

Back in the dining room, Anna smiled at Tommy again. “It’s alright, honey, they just need a little bit of time, and to get to know you a little bit,” she smiled while caressing his hair. “They just need to see how wonderful you are, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to have another brother, don’t you worry about it, honey.”

Oh, I’m not the one who should be worried, Tommy thought but “Ok, mom” was all he said. He didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of having a new brother and sister either, but he had been confronted with that before and he had always found a solution to it. Before long, he would be only the child in the house, and then he would really be able to enjoy all the benefits of having a new mother who couldn’t refuse him anything.

October 4, 2012

Whenever Brine drank too much coke with dinner, she invariably woke up in the middle of the night with this urgent sensation that her bladder would explode. She opened her eyes in the dark, and waited until her pupils adjusted so she could see her surroundings. Her brother snored on the improvised bed next to hers. She wondered how come she had never noticed how cute he was, and the thought made her smile, as she suddenly realized why all the girls at school were crazy about him. He’s half way decent as a brother, too, she mused, although she knew better by now. She knew she would have been scared to still live in that house, had it not been for Jersey.

She eventually decided her bladder couldn’t wait anymore, and got out of bed. She approached the door of the bedroom and, as she looked up at it while trying to grab the knob, a chilling sensation ran down her spine. The door was cracked. She could clearly see the ribbon of nightlight that was always on, and then she could see something else, as if something was half way blocking it. As her eyes moved all the way up the narrow opening, they met with others, on the other side in the hallway. She froze, and the lack of her breath made room for another, the breath of the person standing behind the door, looking through with impenetrable eyes, immobile, quiet, and definitely creepy. She couldn’t move. Although she could only see half the face, she knew Tommy was standing there looking at her in silence. The thought that maybe he had been standing there for hours made her shudder. The thought that he had cracked the door himself, while she and Jersey were asleep, made her knees feel weak. The thought that she really needed to pee but didn’t dare move made her heart beat faster. She realized she was scared. She went back to bed, hid under the covers for a few minutes and hoped that what she had seen was just a figment of her imagination, and then she peeked over the blanket to assure herself. Through the cracked door of the bedroom, two cold eyes were looking in, devoid of understanding and emotion.

That morning, before going to breakfast, she told Jersey about it. She had debated whether to say anything at all, and had it not been for the thumb tacks spread all over their floor, had it not been for some of them piercing Jersey’s feet as he stood up, maybe she would have waited. Her brother’s first instinct was to go start a fight, and it took quite a few minutes for Brine to convince him otherwise.

“It’s not gonna solve anything, Jersey, mom’s just gonna believe him and then you’re gonna be in trouble. We have to find another way to tell her, without making it seem that we’re just trying to get rid of him,” her words were wise, but Jersey was still on fire and wouldn’t hear of it.

“Brine! That creep can’t stand there in the hallway in the middle of the night and stare at us. And what’s with all this shit on the floor?? This means he came in here last night while we were both out. What’s next?? We have to tell mom!” and then, as if the greatest idea had come to him, he whispered, “I’ll just beat him up at school.”

“No! Jersey, that would be worse! If there’s no one to see it, he’ll spin it around and make it look like he’s not done anything. Mom won’t believe you, trust me!”

They decided not to say anything, and just wait a while, until they could get some kind of concrete evidence. The thumb tacks weren’t enough. Even though they were only teenagers, who should have been oblivious to anything that didn’t involve their phones, they could plainly see their mother’s attachment to the intruder. They watched her cooking his meals and doing his laundry, buying him things he didn’t deserve, taking him out to movies, and generally getting closer to him than she had ever been to her own children. In the meantime, the two of them only had each other. Their dad couldn’t care less. He was busy hunting.

October 8, 2012

Brine and Jersey were seated quietly on the couch, waiting for their mother to come home after picking up Tommy from school. He had joined a gang, and had gotten into a fight with one of the crew members. He had broken two of his enemy’s ribs, and was thus prohibited from riding the bus again. The gang had applauded him, and praised him for performing so well for his initiation.

The siblings had decided it would be the perfect moment for them to voice their concerns about their new brother, now that he had done something so wrong. They had prepared a speech, they had rehearsed it, and now they waited. As they heard the front door, they looked at each quizzically. They watched Anna and Tommy walking into the dining room, and while Tommy sat down at the dining table, Brine and Jersey whispered to each other about who would speak first. Brine decided to take the lead:

“Mom, Jersey and I need to talk to you about something.”

“Not now, Brine, this is not a good time. Tommy is hurt, I need to take care of the scratches on his face. We can talk later,” Anna stated emotionless and tired, while looking for Neosporin in a first aid box she kept under the counter in the kitchen.

“Mom! We don’t want Tommy here, he’s creeping us out! The other night he was staring at us through the door, in the middle of the night! I was afraid to go to the bathroom! He spread thumb tacks all over our floor and Jersey stepped on them! And now he’s in a gang? You would kill Jersey if he ever joined a gang, but it’s ok for Tommy?” Brine’s words came out in one uninterrupted and breathless stream, as she could feel her pulse quickening with anger. She couldn’t believe that her mother would so disregard her own children’s safety for the sake of a stranger.

Anna stopped looking for the medicine. She looked up at Brine, and then she looked at Tommy, who had raised his eyebrows in wonder, and was pleading with his eyes moist.

“Jersey, is this true?” She looked for confirmation from her other child.

“Well, I didn’t actually see him cause I was asleep, but Brine says so and I believe her. But yeah, I did step on those thumb tacks, I can show you if you want.”

No one could have guessed Anna’s reaction. The siblings certainly didn’t expect it. They were shocked to hear her yell so loudly, and knew they had lost her forever.

“How many times have I told you to stop making stuff up?? Why do you have to keep lying to me like this?? No, I don’t want to see anything. Tommy hasn’t done anything, and the first time any of you says anything more about him, you’ll be the ones out of this house! I’ve had enough, do you understand? I’ve had enough of you ungrateful children, I’ve had enough of no one giving a shit about me and what I want, I’ve had enough of being walked all over by two spoiled brats and a husband who prefers deer to his own wife. Enough!!”

She slammed her fist into the kitchen counter, and did not feel a thing. The outburst took every ounce of energy she had. She had waited so long to say these words, and she couldn’t believe she had actually dared raise her voice and make herself heard this way. Tommy hadn’t been anything but sweet and compliant, taking her hand as if he always needed protection, helping her with groceries, praying with her, and calling her “mom”. She didn’t believe for a second that he had joined a gang, either. That wasn’t the Tommy she knew. All she ever wanted was for a child to appreciate her, and she would not let go of that because two teenagers couldn’t handle their own jealousy. They needed to learn that they were not the center of anyone’s universe. This was their lesson, and she hoped they took it.

The siblings didn’t say anything anymore. Their mother’s words were enough for them to understand they were on their own. They glanced at Tommy, and could swear there was that insufferable smirk on his face again. They knew he would always win, and that it was too late for them. The worst part of all was that they had no idea how to deal with it anymore. What could they do if their mother wasn’t listening? Who could they tell? What would have to happen for Anna to see the truth? They were left wondering, but no answers came.

October 9, 2012

Anna had to go out of town that Tuesday, for a teachers’ workshop she couldn’t avoid. Although she was reluctant to leave the three teenagers alone with her husband, she hoped that one day wasn’t time enough for anything bad to happen. After she made arrangements for Tommy to be picked up from school by one of her friends, because her husband continued to refuse to help, she wished them all a good day, and out the door she went.

As soon as she was gone, Brine and Jersey picked up their backpacks and decided to walk to school, just so they wouldn’t be in the same room with Tommy for more than it was necessary. The day passed by fast, the classes were as boring as ever, and the two met during lunch to talk about what they would do after school, while their mother was still out. They knew Tommy would be at home with their father, although that wasn’t enough, by any means, to make them feel safe. They decided they would spend the rest of the day at the Riverside Park, watching the ducks on their favorite pond, and trying to catch frogs. They would have decided on something different, had they had any money. But this was the only option for them at this point.

They got to the park about four in the after-noon, and were disappointed to see there were no other people around. They wondered where all the dog lovers were, and they did spend some time trying to find others who loved nature. The sky was getting dark, and they felt smothered by the humidity in the air. The trees almost didn’t move, and everything was still, as it usually is right before a storm. They looked for a shelter, in case a storm did come. An abandoned gazebo was just as good as any other. They had barely reached it when the rain started coming down heavy and furious. The curtain of water prevented them from seeing much around them, so they sat down on the wooden floor and started playing with their phones.

As the hums and thuds of rain coming down concealed any other sounds, they never heard the group approaching the gazebo. They only realized someone else was there when they noticed movement in the corner of their eyes. By the time they made out faces, it was too late.

Two tall and dark young men grabbed Jersey and knocked him over on the ground, in the rain and mud. Two others took hold of Brine and pinned her down on the gazebo floor, while covering her mouth. While Jersey was screaming at them to let her go, Brine’s heart sunk into her stomach as she discovered who the ring leader was.

Tommy was smiling at her, with cold eyes. As his gang buddies held Brine down, he leaned over her and started caressing her throat with a pocket knife he always carried.

“You are just too pretty to waste,” he whispered as he began shredding her tank top. “You’ll get hurt if you don’t stop moving,” he added as the pocket knife cut through the fabric as if it was butter. “I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you,” he laughed so hard it could be heard over the rain.

“You asshole! What the hell do you want?” Brine was visibly scared, but still screamed, while Jersey was cussing at them from afar.

“I want you to stop being a little bitch and try to convince mom that I’m a bad boy,” he said quietly, almost through his teeth. “You have no idea what this bad boy can do, sweet sister,” his smirks were more than she could handle and she started writhing under the two’s hold, trying to kick them away.

Her efforts died when two others showed up out of nowhere and pinned her down harder, each holding one limb. She couldn’t move at all anymore, all she could do was scream and cry, as Tommy removed the last piece of fabric, her pink underwear. The fear paralyzed her exposed body, and she turned her head to where she could still hear Jersey’s angry voice. He couldn’t do anything about it either. He was overpowered, although he did continue to yell and beg for his sister.

“Just don’t hurt him for now!” Tommy commanded the two who were holding Jersey. “He has to watch, that’s how it works,” he added while he started running his fingers over Brine’s goose bumped skin. He loved the shivers of her body, he thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of having complete control over her. He had wanted to shut her up from the first day he’d met her, and now he finally could.

As Brine begged with her eyes and mouth, he took out a bottle of beer from one of his pockets, and licked its neck. She watched in horror as he brought the bottle down, slowly and deliberately, all the way between her legs. After he teased the pubic area for a while, as Brine started yelling even louder, he finally shoved the bottle inside her, with the precision and strength of an act he had performed many a time before. His companions started laughing and encouraging him, and chanting as he rhythmically slid the bottle in and out of her, with no concern for the blood that started staining the wooden floor.

Outside the gazebo, Jersey could do nothing but watch. He watched as they all took turns with Brine, he watched as she stopped fighting them and became quiet, he watched her eyes dry out, and her body giving up. He just watched the life draining out of her, and he watched as the bottle still went in and out even after her last breath was gone. He closed his eyes, and didn’t see the blow coming. The last thing on his mind, before he died, was his sister’s lifeless eyes.

October 10, 2012

As Anna was frantically calling her children’s friends, she suddenly stopped as the news came on. She had called the police station the night before, she had called hospitals and the morgue, she had had her husband go out in his pickup to try and find Jersey and Brine. She couldn’t believe they had just run away, it wasn’t like them. She cried thinking that she had yelled at them before, and she continued making phone calls until the anchorman interrupted the weather cast for a breaking news report.

“The bodies of two unidentified teenagers were found this morning in Riverside Park. Initial reports indicate they may have been attacked in the park yesterday. However, due to the heavy rain we have been experiencing over the past few days, police state there is no evidence available at this time. We ask that you call the free toll number at the bottom of the screen, should you have any information about two recently missing teenagers.”

Anna felt her knees give up, and she had to lean against the dining table so she wouldn’t fall to the ground. She gasped for air in disbelief. As she started panicking and crying, Tommy came over to her.

“It’s ok, mom, I’m sure it’s not them. I’m here for you now. I’ll always be here.”

Anna looked at his sweet, innocent face and grabbed his hand for support. If it really was them, she at least had one child left. She prayed and was grateful for Tommy. He would always be there for her. He was all she had left.

Bothersome Issues

220px-Peace_sign.svgI’ve been thinking a lot lately about the things that used to bother me back home, and the things that bother me here. When I say “bother”, I mean things that puzzle me, that don’t make sense, that make me go WTF, and also that anger me. Let’s face it, I do get angry sometimes (a lot), especially when it comes to things that pertain to common sense and simple decency (and lack thereof). I’m talking about things that I see around me every day, things that I can’t absolutely do anything about, things that do affect me (more or less), things that just aren’t right, things that no one really seems to care about. This is not to be taken as a rant (especially because I’m trying to stay way from rants and control myself as much as possible, in an effort to be as objective as I can). So I decided to list, in bullet points, a sort of comparison between the two societies/cultures I have experienced so far. These are just examples. Here goes nothing:

ROMANIA:

  • Standing in line for fours hours to buy necessities (bread, milk, soap, etc.): neighbors were always pretty good about letting everyone know when trucks were seen pulling up behind stores. They would spread the word, and I had to go stand in line until my mom came with the actual money to buy whatever it was. It was me going because I was the youngest in the family. Even if my mom told my brother to go, he would delegate the task to me, and I couldn’t refuse. That meant punishment. From him AND from my mother.
  • Being thrown out of the Communist Youth Organization because my dad was a traitor: I was in second grade!!! At that age, all this organization meant for me was that I would wear this pretty red scarf around my neck, on which badges representing scholastic achievements could be pinned. I couldn’t wait for the whole ceremony, and I couldn’t wait for everyone to finally see how good I was in school, only to be told that I was not eligible to even participate for the reason mentioned above. It was devastating.
  • Having to bribe doctors in order to make sure they paid attention: I once took my mom to the ER at about 10 pm because she thought she was having a heart attack. While in the ER, there was a young man there with a pretty nasty wound to his head, bleeding profusely all over the place and other people; it was about 3 am when someone came out to look at him. In the meantime, my mom was still thinking she was having a heart attack, was scared out of her mind, and there was nothing we could do about it. After someone finally showed up and took her in about 4 am, I ended up wandering the hospital hallways until I found a smoking area. Yes, we used to be able to smoke inside buildings back home (even hospitals). In fact, I remember being in college in 2001, and smoking right outside the classroom in the hallway. Good times!
  • Using public transportation: During communism, the only individuals who owned their own vehicles were government people. No one else had access to personal cars, so we all used buses. The buses only functioned between 8 am and midnight, so if you had a job starting at 6 am, you had to walk (luckily, I was never in that position myself). The buses were usually very crowded, to the point that people literally hung from the bars on the doors that never closed. It was the perfect environment for individuals who loved groping your private parts. It happened so much, I got used to it. No one ever said anything, the only solution was to get off at the next stop, regardless of whether you reached your destination or not. This actually continued to whole time I was home, all 24 years, because no one could really afford cars even after the revolution (this has changed in the past 5-8 years, and more and more people now have vehicles for personal use; it has actually gotten so bad that now there’s no room to park these cars anywhere; when the communists started building entire cities, they never accounted for the fact that, maybe sometime in the future, people would have cars; as a result, cars are generally parked on the sidewalk, and double- and triple-parked; it’s a nightmare!)

USA:

  • Women calling the police because their husbands are having affairs: this was reported in our local newspaper.
  • People being let go from their jobs based on policies that don’t exist anywhere in writing: this has recently happened to me.
  • Honey Boo Boo: no explanation needed (I REALLY hope I don’t have to explain this one).
  • Churches EVERYWHERE: according to http://www.churchangel.com/WEBTX/nacogdo.htm, there are 40 churches in Nacogdoches, TX, a town with about 35,000 people. My home town is about the size of Dallas, and it has about 8 churches total. Please don’t take this to mean that I’m against religion. I just think the number of churches is quite…a bit too much for my own taste (again, I got nothing against religion, although I do have issues with those using religion to control people and make money off of them).
  • People applying for Social Security benefits because they are illiterate: I had to evaluate a 21-year-old girl one time, drop dead gorgeous, with blond, long hair, beautiful green eyes, and legs up to her neck. She flat out told me she was applying for benefits because she couldn’t even stock shelves at WalMart because she couldn’t read and write. She had somehow slipped through the cracks in school (No Child Left Behind is awesome, but that’s for another post), and she had no other way of making a living. When I asked her what would happen if she didn’t get these benefits, she said: “Oh well, I know I’m pretty, I’ll always find a man to take care of me!” (Just FYI, tax payers support these people, including myself).
  • People getting offended over every little thing: I recently found out you can’t tell kids anymore to sit down Indian style (with the legs crossed on the floor), because that’s offensive. You now have to say “Criss cross, apple sauce.” (What does that even mean?? I wasn’t able to find out where that comes from, or who made it up).
  • People subjecting their children to horrible things, with impunity: When I worked at the Boys Ranch (residential treatment facility for boys in the custody of the state, who had been removed form their homes due to abuse and/or neglect), I read stories about fathers peeing in the mouths of 2-month-old girls; mothers taking their children to motels where they had sex with strangers for crack, with the kids present; fathers beating their children with baseball bats to “remind” them of what would happen if they didn’t follow the rules; entire generations sexually abusing five-year-old boys because “my grandfather did it to me, what’s the big deal?”, etc. etc. These people never went to jail. They were always under some kind of Family Services program, where the state goes in and tells the parent to follow some rules, and then give the children back. In other cases, women just had other children after some were removed from their custody. In four years of working there, I have not heard of one parent going to jail for these horrible things they did.

Again, this is not a rant. These are just things I’ve observed and/or experienced. We still have freedom of speech, right? I’m not gonna get in trouble for posting this, am I? Just checking…

Review: “Work Ethic – Can We?”

What a lucky child Mihaela was. I heard much of the same advice but it generally wasn’t stated so affirmatively.

For starters, I think the change from italics was a good device to separate past from present. It reminded me of the wavy lines they use in TV shows to begin flashbacks. Good work. For me, that improved the readability of your work. Otherwise I would have been confused about your point.

My only problem with the first half stems from the opening clause. I say this because this is far too much information for a first grader to comprehend. Perhaps, “Over the years my mother taught me many of life’s lessons, beginning in the first grade”. Or something like that.

You have one question that starts with “is” rather than “can”. I think that was important. It prompts the reader. Nice. It also affirms that the lessons your Mom taught have stuck with you and been the model for your life. This lends credibility to your discourse.

Personally, I appreciate that you don’t single out any particular age group for your comments. I’ve been working over 40 years and have known lazy dolts of my own age and seen lazy adults too. I deplore when older folks criticize all young as not having any work ethic. I see kids with no work ethic as well as those who share your mothers sentiments.

One suggestion. The tone of your questions seems somewhat angry which may turn off an open minded reader. A helpful suggestion to a few of these questions might alleviate that.

Otherwise, I’m with you and am glad we had similar upbringings.

From Karl Doyle on www.writing.com

Taboo Subjects

I’m watching news about two 12-year-old girls who stabbed one of their friends 19 times and left her for dead on a biking trail. I don’t plan to comment on it at all, because I wasn’t there, I don’t know details (other than what the media presents, and we all know how much to trust that), and it wouldn’t make any difference anyway.

What I’m thinking about is the fact that kids will ALWAYS try to get around parental restrictions to get to what they want, what they think appeals to them and makes them cool, what they perceive as prohibited. As a child, you always want what you can’t have (although I do know plenty of adults who operate under the same principle).  You can try and use however many rules and tools to keep them from doing something; you can put parental controls on TV’s, phones, tablets, computers; you can make them not hang out with people you don’t like; you can ground them, take their privileges away, you can do whatever you want. But the second a parent says No, you’re not allowed, that kid will want to do exactly that. And the real issue is that if they want it badly enough, they WILL find a way to get access to it or to do it.

I’m just wondering if talking to kids about the why of things might lead to different results. I wonder if explaining the reasoning behind why you don’t want them to do certain things or associate with certain people might make a difference. I don’t know, but I would like to believe that I will be able to raise my kids without fear of talking to me and asking questions about information they get from the environment outside our home. Of course, age and development will be taken into account, as certain topics can definitely wait until the kids are old enough to understand abstract concepts. I just find that a lot of times not being able to talk to your parents, because you’re afraid of what they might say, and think they will somehow punish you for your questions, might lead to some really bad decisions. We all know parents who won’t discuss certain issues with their kids, whatever their taboos are. I choose to believe we’re all capable of using reasoning and logic, and explain things in a way that will make children get why they shouldn’t do certain things.

I’m thinking about natural consequences here. Tell them exactly what would happen, and see if they can take the consequences of their actions. For example:

Let me tell what’s going to happen if you don’t use protection. You see, there’re these little thingies called spermatozoa that will travel really fast into your belly and find an egg, and then BOOM! You’re growing another person inside of you. BUT that’s not all! Let me tell you what might happen if you have it: you’ll have to quit school to raise it (because I’m not supporting the result of you being irresponsible), which means you’ll have to get a job or two (hmmm, we need to figure out what skills you have at this age and what jobs you can get without a high-school diploma; Oh, we’ll also need to figure out where you’re gonna live because I already raised the person I made; Oooh ohh, by the way, do you know how much it cost to give birth in the hospital? Please don’t forget you’ll need lots of diapers, too). And then OMG What if little Billie decides he doesn’t actually want to be a father after all because he’s 15 and his own parents want him to go to college? Hmmm, so here’s your choice: you use protection and you get to finish school, go to college, learn some things, and THEN make another person, OR you can NOT use protection and NOT finish school, and NOT go to college, and guess what? Awww, you still have this little person you have to provide for and raise. On your own. So what’s it gonna be?

Just saying…

Work Ethic – Can We?

Before I went to first grade, my mother sat me down and said:

Mihaela, everyone has a job in this world. As your mother, my job is to provide food and shelter for you and your brother, to take care of you when you’re sick, to give you advice and guide you when you need it. Your brother’s job is to play the piano twelve hours a day until all our neighbors go crazy, because that’s his gift. Your job is going to be to go to school and learn. You’ll have to listen to what your teacher tells you because she’s your boss. You’ll have to learn to write neatly so that people can understand your words. You’ll have to read your books because that’s where most of your knowledge will come from for a while. And most of all, you’ll have to be responsible and do your homework EVERY day without whining and complaining when things get hard.

When the teacher tells you to do something, you do it right away. You don’t let that woman wonder whether you did it or not. You don’t come up with excuses for why you can’t do it, no matter how difficult it seems. When you’re confused or unsure, you ask yourself questions. What do the words mean? What do the sentences mean when you put the words together? What is the context? Do you have to find something, or just solve a problem, and how do you know that? Is there something you already know that you can use?  Is there information missing that you need to find? And if yes, where do you find it? If you got a problem having to do with cockroaches, will you find information about cockroaches in a book about the Great Wall of China, or in a book about bugs? And where do you find those books? Is there a place you can go to borrow some? Does someone have a book they can let you use? THINK, Mihaela, THINK!

Also, she said, DON’T BE LAZY! No one likes laziness, and if you have any, you need to get rid of it NOW. Think about how you use your time, time is precious. Don’t waste it because you don’t know how many days you got on this earth. Make yourself useful whenever you can. If there’s nothing to do, read a book. Or copy your notes until you know them by heart. Be considerate with your classmates, and help them if they need it. Try to help them even if they don’t want it, they might still appreciate it later. Be respectful with anyone who’s older than you, they’ve lived longer. Be kind to someone younger than you, they still have learning to do. Be nice to everyone because you never know who you’re talking to, and usually things are not what they seem. Don’t talk about people behind their backs, that’s just ugly and it will come back on you. And most importantly, don’t wait for anyone to tell you what a great job you’re doing. You don’t need that because you already know it. And how do you know it? Because if you listen to me, you’ll do an awesome job and that’ll feel better than any words anyone can tell you about it.

Is it really that difficult to apply these words when we also get paid for what we do?

Can we just do our jobs, and not have to be told three times to complete this task or that?

Can we pay attention when someone says “Here’s how this is done” so they don’t have to say it to us over and over and over, until they reach the conclusion that maybe we’re complete morons and we’re never gonna learn?

Can we be somewhere on time, especially when other people’s time is also at stake?

Can we use our resources and try to figure something out first, just make an effort, before we decide we need direction?

Can we stay out of people’s personal lives at work, and not pester them with questions for gossip material, especially when they give strong indications they are not interested in that kind of office pastime?

Can we take responsibility and admit we messed something up because we didn’t know any better?

Can we find something to do when nothing is happening and we’re bored out of our minds, but without necessarily making it known to everyone that we’re shopping online?

Can we actually admit that we DON’T KNOW everything, and that WE’RE NOT entitled to preferential treatment at work because we’re prettier than everyone else?

Can we, please, can we?

On Language – A Personal Opinion

Disclaimer before I go any further: I know almost next to nothing about language acquisition and development. This is simply an opinion I have formed as a non-native speaker of English, and as a foreigner living in Texas.

I have been here 10 years now, and I have not forgotten my native tongue. I think in Romanian ALL THE TIME, especially when I’m upset or intoxicated. It’s just how it is. Interestingly enough, and as a side note, I dream in English when I’m here and in Romanian when I’m home. Fascinating, isn’t it?

I never forgot the rules of grammar, the conjugations (and there’s lots of those, like in French… a nightmare for anyone trying to learn Romanian), the articles, the plurals, the feminine/masculine/neutral nouns (Yes, we have neutral nouns in my language). I never forgot our folk stories and legends, or the idioms and slang I learned growing up. I didn’t forget the words for milk, thirst, bathroom, drink, meal, etc., etc. I didn’t forget when to use formal address and appropriate greetings, or words of appreciation and disgust. I do have issues sometimes with technical terms, especially those related to psychology. This is because I never studied psychology back home (I think), so I generally have to look up Romanian equivalents for terms like working memory, curriculum based assessment, functional communication, mand, tact, fluid reasoning, academic fluency, broad written language, psychopatic deviate and many more.

I only speak Romanian on Sundays, for maybe 20-30 minutes (it’s my weekly phone call with my mom). But I never have any issues speaking when I go back home. I was told there’s a slight accent for the first couple of hours I’m there, and then it’s gone and everything’s back to normal.

The point is that I don’t believe you can actually forget so much of your own language if you don’t use it. Some members of my family spent a few years in Canada and when they went back home, they mixed English and Romanian like crazy. Honestly, it just made them look stupid, and I was so tempted to tell them as much because they thought it made them seem interesting (and above everyone else, which they enjoyed thoroughly). Let’s assume you’re under some distress and forced to not speak your language for a long period of time. Even so, you still have your THOUGHTS. And no one can force those to be in a different language. So, then, how do you forget?

I just don’t get it. I wish someone would explain it to me, because I just don’t get it. If anyone knows of any research on this topic, please point me in that direction. A scientific explanation might make change my mind about this.

Review: “Coronary Thief”

Hi there! You are being reviewed by a newbie!

Tone & Mood: Great tone and mood.I thought the mood was reflective and I was taken in by it.

Emotional Impact: You caused me to wonder and speculate. How could someone meet another person that they perceived to love without knowing who or what that person was? I was completely lost in the story. That is what we strive for as writers.

Grammar/Punctuation: You did an excellent job with this. I see no problems.

Summary: Your overall story was well presented and held my attention. I was hoping she would find him and he be the person of her dreams and he was. I was just floored over the ending. I don’t know if it will continue or if it was the end for them. I felt it was the end, but what reason was it for and how old were they? I wanted to know so much more about it. 

Overall: I would recommend this to others and buy the book if you wrote it because I think you would do well to make a book out of this. There is something to this story. I find the finding of one’s love interest in such a way to be romantic and I think you could get a book out of this.

Thanks for sharing this item! I only review things that I enjoy reading and I truly did enjoy this story. Please keep on writing more stories just like this!

From Billiegail on www.writing.com

Coronary Thief

Placebo_by_daewoniiiTrains were awfully noisy at night, especially when the ride was nine hours long and there were no other passengers around to mask the rickety progression with their voices. It was her first time alone on a trip, and she was still amazed she had convinced her mother to let her go. The pretext of visiting an old family friend, someone who was mature and responsible, who would not let her do anything ‘stupid’, was good enough for the overprotective parent. Secretly, she savored the thoughts of meeting him for the first time. Although she could not control the butterflies in her belly, the questions in her head, and the doubts, oh, the doubts, all forty three muscles of her face had conspired to not give any of that away to the outside world. This is gonna be the longest ride ever, why can’t I just sleep? While the train passed through desolate fields and eerie woodlands, on the way to the city where he waited, she tried to create an imaginary face for the person she already knew.

Her old friend was waiting at the station, and took her to a small apartment where coffee and breakfast had already been prepared. She couldn’t touch any of it as she was barely able to contain the excitement of being away from home for a little while, even if she was lying about the real reasons for being there. After she was given directions to get downtown, she was left alone to figure everything out. She took a shower to freshen up, chose a pair of light blue jeans and her favorite tank top, and put her long hair up, as summer days were hot and humid.

She started her search at the top of the wide avenue, with tall buildings and espresso bars lining the sidewalks. He had given her one hint, ‘internet café’, and the name of the boulevard. When she had asked how she would recognize him, he had only said You’ll know me, just like I’ll know you. She passed one café, and could see everyone inside through tall, glass windows. He wasn’t there. She kept walking and reached a second one, up a circular stairway hanging on the side of another building. She started to walk up, and then remembered he hadn’t mentioned anything about any stairs, so she kept walking. He wasn’t at the third one, or fourth, or fifth.

As dusk set in, she grew weary and started to wonder if it had all been just a cruel joke. It wouldn’t have been the first time she was fooled by words, as she believed people were basically good and would have no reasons to not tell the truth. She had hoped that her beliefs were more accurate this time. Besides, her guts told her that this man was honest, genuine, and truly interested in her as a person, without even knowing what she looked like. Their chat-room conversations, and the topics he was interested in, the way he used language, the jokes he made, all of it had touched her in a way she had yearned for her entire life. She had been attracted to the way he flirted with her, even before they knew each other’s gender.

They had been talking online for almost five months when she had mentioned she had an old friend in the same town where he lived and that she could visit. They both laughed when they realized they really didn’t know if the other was male or female; they had agreed from the beginning to not exchange pictures, as each was initially looking for a friend more than anything else. They both laughed even harder when they realized it didn’t matter. They were attracted to each other as human beings, and that’s all there was to it. Their gender didn’t make a difference. She had never met anyone similar to him, and that was more enthralling to her than anything else.

She sat down on a bench on the sidewalk, in the shade, to rest for a minute and decide what to do. She could keep going, the vast avenue was nowhere near its end, and there must have been more places she could check. At the same time, her doubts surfaced and she felt moisture in her tear ducts. She was determined not to cry right there, on the street. She would keep it all in, as she had done many times before when she was disappointed in people, and she would weep with her face buried in her pillow, late at night. She finally decided to try one more place, before completely giving up.

She found the next internet café a few blocks down. There was yet another espresso bar on the sidewalk, where people took coffees and lemonades while reading the paper, or chatting up old friends. The tables were all occupied and she had to walk around some of them to reach the door leading inside. She walked into a small hallway that lead upstairs. As she was walking up, she saw the tinted windows of the place and realized she would really have to walk in to see who was there. She paused for a second and caught her breath. Her heart was beating just a little bit faster for a reason she couldn’t figure out. She felt an energy pushing her from behind, as if she wasn’t in control of her own motor coordination anymore. She took a deep breath, ran her fingers through her pony tail, by now almost disheveled from the wind and humidity outside, and then she opened the door.

It took a second or two for her pupils to adjust to the dim, smoke-filled atmosphere inside. When she started perceiving human shapes again, it was apparent most patrons had stopped what they were doing to turn around and look at her. She obviously didn’t belong there. Video-gamers, still awake after an all-nighter online, sucking on cigarettes and drinking cokes, paused their games and snickered at each other. She felt like she had walked into a nightmare populated with pale faces, goth hair-dos, and wanna-be vampires.

She felt her cheeks burning as she looked around and tried to make out faces, and then her eyes stopped on him. He was skinnier than she had imagined, about her same height, with dark hair, exquisite green eyes, and enticing lips. The connection was undeniable when their eyes met. He did not hesitate. He walked over to her and hugged her with a huge smile on his face. You made it, he whispered in her ear as people around watched. How did he know? Her heart wasn’t listening to her anymore, and was beating insanely fast, irregular, as if she was hyperventilating. Her whole body was shaking and her knees seemed unable to support her weight anymore. She couldn’t find words, so she just held him close, as if she wanted to crawl under his skin and become one with him. She felt safe and loved, and she had no idea where it was coming from. How many times had she dreamed about this moment, and now she couldn’t even bring herself to look him in the eyes. She thought that would cause him to see her real self, and hate it. She didn’t want to let go when he loosened his embrace, just enough for their eyes to meet again. They both smiled and they knew, they knew this was meant to be. It was as if they could communicate without speech, as if a magic thread had connected them since birth and had just now been reeled in, bringing them together.

They spent that night together on the floor of the internet café, after he had chased all the customers away. They drank vodka, and watched movies. They made out and she played with his tongue ring until she finally bit him and could taste his blood. They listened to his favorite band, and she cried at lyrics that made her wonder how she had lived without knowing about this band until then. When the sun came up, they went out to walk around the quiet, still sleeping city. They passed an art gallery, and he showed her stained-glass pieces he loved. They had coffee at one of his friends’ place, and then they walked again, hand in hand, whispering silly things to each other, while the serious ones were still kept inside. She prayed that the day would never end, and she dreaded the thought that she would have to leave him soon.

They parted with the promise that he would come see her off at the station. After she found her seat and placed her bag in the overhead compartment, they spent a few minutes on the platform before the train started moving. When the train’s departure was announced, he climbed the few steps of the wagon with her, and before they parted forever, he gave her his ring. He promised himself to her with his eyes and with his words, and she would keep the ring to remind her of that every day of her life. She cried when she realized that her heart was breaking. She cried knowing that she would probably never see him again. She cried even more when she finally understood that, with absolutely no control over it, she had to let the love of her life go.

Adrasteia

638262-blood6The body had been washed and clothed in his best suit, and placed upon a wooden table in the first room of the house. Death had cursed the household, it seemed, as Adrasteia’s grandfather was the third member of the family to be found dead in his bed in the past year. She had a thorough knowledge of the funeral rites by now. She knew his hair and beard would be combed by the grieving widow, she knew she would have to bring the candles out again so that they would light the way for the soul reaching to heaven. She knew she would knead the dough for the knot-shaped bread to be placed on her grandfather’s chest, as he laid there, dead and rotting. I should have stopped, she scolded herself in silence. Oh, I do hope they blame the count. I should have known better. Three is too many, I’ve been too greedy, they’ll know, they’ll know!

But they didn’t know. And they did blame the count. Without any proof, they had no choice but to go about the preparations quietly and subdued, while praying for forgiveness of their sins. They put the food and drinks out for visitors, and they all reminisced together. They wailed when it was time to put him in the ground. They named the people who would check for snake holes around the grave three days after the burial. Then they went home, and resumed their lives, exhausted, drained of energy, and still praying that the dead would not turn. No one said one word to the 13-year-old girl with eyes dark as the darkest night and skin so white it seemed to always glow.

Three days passed quicker than Adrasteia thought. She had almost forgotten about the snake holes when an uncle came by for a visit on his way to the grave. She heard the family talk, and while they ate together around the same table in the first room of the house, she sneaked out through the back door and flew across the field, to make holes in the ground and to move the body, so that they would all think the dead walked again.

She did not say a word when her uncle came back from the cemetery, pale looking and gasping for air from having run so fast to ring the church bells and let the family know. There were holes in the ground. There were holes in the ground, and things needed to be done. The elders gathered within the hour, and before the church bells rang again, a small group of terrified men headed for the field of the dead, armed with wooden stakes and holy water.

Fools, they’re all fools, Adrasteia mused as she followed them, unseen. From the shadows she watched them dig up the grave, and she watched the horror on their faces when they saw it hollow. She heard the warning shrills and bellows, and she hoped again they would blame the count who lived atop the hill, right behind the cemetery. Why else would you live in a place like that? Why else would you never be seen in daylight? And why only use copper coins when silver was more precious? They shouted questions at each other, and some wanted to make the count pay.

On their way they went, and Adrasteia followed again. She was curious about the house herself. She wanted to know who lived there. She needed new blood too, and her family was getting smaller by the month. As men walked through the gates, a small, winged creature entered the house through a window and started a tour of her own.

She flew from room to room, until she heard commotion somewhere off a narrow hallway. She listened at the door and soon discerned sounds of going to bed. Blankets were ruffled, a chamber pot sliding out of sight, finally a body falling heavy upon dove feather pillows. She waited patiently until the smallest sounds went away, and then she waited some more. She would take her time, there was no hurry. The household was occupied with other matters, those of a small group of terrified men demanding to know who was killing their loved ones.

She finally entered the room when she was sure she could. Upon the canopy bed, a boy about her age, with curly hair and barely any hair on his face, had settled into peaceful slumber. She looked at his face and found herself drawn to it in a way she had never known before. She leaned over him, and then she hovered for a while just high enough above where her hair wouldn’t touch and disturb him. She couldn’t make up her mind at all. She found herself torn again with painful desire to have someone as herself to share her bed and meals. She yearned for someone’s touch in the night, and who better than this young boy, so unaware, so easy to mold?

She traced the slight smile on his face, and he started but stayed asleep. She took her time removing his undergarment and followed the throat veins to his heart until she reached the place right above it, where she could find the freshest blood. The skin broke under the pressure of her teeth. The taste of iron, the taste of his life sliding into her system was exhilarating. It was a difficult sensation to give up, when she didn’t have that much of it in the first place, but she stopped at the edge between life and death. She licked her lips and swallowed the lost drop before she passed her fingers over the corners of the mouth, as if to make sure she hadn’t missed any of it.

The boy opened his eyes in wonder. She watched him turn and remembered all the things that would have to be explained again. His eyes became a clearer tone of green, and his skin began to glimmer in the shadow of the canopy, while his muscles tensed and were instantly more defined. She could feel them through the silk, just as she could feel the hunger in him.

Don’t worry, my love, we’ll feed soon, she whispered, and then sealed it all with her lips, still tasting of iron.