I’d like to share a little about myself STORYTELLER E. B. SULLIVAN.
I grew up in Brooklyn, New York. My yard was home to a fig tree one of the few trees in the entire neighborhood. During the last thirty years, as a clinical psychologist, I’ve been privileged to witness a host of fascinating individuals discover healthy philosophies. I’m a wife, mother of twins, grandmother, friend to my rescue horses, feral cats, and my two playful pups.
Today I live on 60 acres nestled in the middle of a pine forest. In this tranquil setting, I delight in reflecting upon nature. I enjoy playing with my camera and my antique piano. Other days, I putter in my garden, or have fun creating new recipes. Most of all, I find this location the perfect place to write fictional tales including short stories, novellas, and novels.
Visit my author page on Amazon.com: viewAuthor.at/EBSullivan
I grew up in Brooklyn, New York. My yard was home to a fig tree one of the few trees in the entire neighborhood. During the last thirty years, as a clinical psychologist, I’ve been privileged to witness a host of fascinating individuals discover healthy philosophies. I’m a wife, mother of twins, grandmother, friend to my rescue horses, feral cats, and my two playful pups.
Today I live on 60 acres nestled in the middle of a pine forest. In this tranquil setting, I delight in reflecting upon nature. I enjoy playing with my camera and my antique piano. Other days, I putter in my garden, or have fun creating new recipes. Most of all, I find this location the perfect place to write fictional tales including short stories, novellas, and novels.
Visit my author page on Amazon.com: viewAuthor.at/EBSullivan
They Came to America
They came to America bringing gifts from their birth.
Leaving poverty and hunger, they stuffed their bellies with delicious tastes.
They crammed their pockets with historical wisdom.
They wrapped themselves in tattered threads of future distinctive fashion.
Their diverse talented fingers clutched trunks of artistic skills.
With volumes of tales cataloged in their heads, their lips uttered final farewells.
Boarding massive ships, their heartstrings echoed classic masterpieces.
Over choppy waters and above towering waves they gracefully juggled dazzling hopes with unfathomable losses.
In choreographed balance, they accepted sorrow, and offered solace.
Sequestered in filthy quarters they endured appalling conditions.
At Ellis Island, they rallied their inner strengths ignoring insults and indignities.
With astounding performances, they aced mental, physical, and psychological entry exams.
They deserted their land to save their land.
They abandoned their space to make way for it to flourish.
Like an over plowed field it needed rest to replenish.
Now the earth is fertile once more.
Planted in expectant lushness, powerful seeds of example create a bounty
For those who recognize, appreciate, and preserve its beauty.
Allora, I return to my inherited homeland.
I wish my dear departed could be here to smell, touch, and ingest what the children of those who stayed behind have prepared.
Decorated in lace and sequins these younger ones offer me their feast.
Genuine smiles remind me we are all relatives.
They assure me this too is my home.
It’s a place where I will always belong.
This stanza is my room.
I remember standing on a terrazzo balcony gazing beyond the hills to the sea.
I remember the view of nature reflected in columns carved of marble.
I remember rosettes setting off taffeta and velvet fabrics.
I remember arias stirring my emotions.
I remember sitting in the kitchen filling my breaths with the scent of fragrant thyme.
Here the birds awaken me by singing a cappella in falsetto voices.
Here herbs infuse the air of immortals.
Here every house is a villa where the scenery seamlessly flows from the tousling outside grasses to the inside fluff of silk pillows.
Here with my ancestors an inner calm comforts my soul.
With folds of gold and pleats of color, their style complements mine.
It is familiar. It is my father. It is my mother. It is my understanding of true beauty.
Thank you, Italia for welcoming me.
Thank you, Italia, for making my world a place of peace, a place of divine harmony, a place inspired by my parents.
A place they struggled to leave and a place they toiled to build.
Because they showered me with their excellence, it is a space residing in splendor.
If only I could open the gates of heaven, I would dash beyond the threshold and embrace my beloved angels who continue to uphold me.
The blessings they bestow imbue me with unending gratitude.
My desire is to replay their ageless music enticing the next generation to join in the brilliant dance.
They came to America waving the flag of freedom.
They came to America with the determined will of independence.
They came to America to give me the majesty of Italia.
They came to America in order for Italia to regain her wonderment.
Bellisima terra, there and here, then and now, you enhance my spirit a million fold.
They came to America bringing gifts from their birth.
Leaving poverty and hunger, they stuffed their bellies with delicious tastes.
They crammed their pockets with historical wisdom.
They wrapped themselves in tattered threads of future distinctive fashion.
Their diverse talented fingers clutched trunks of artistic skills.
With volumes of tales cataloged in their heads, their lips uttered final farewells.
Boarding massive ships, their heartstrings echoed classic masterpieces.
Over choppy waters and above towering waves they gracefully juggled dazzling hopes with unfathomable losses.
In choreographed balance, they accepted sorrow, and offered solace.
Sequestered in filthy quarters they endured appalling conditions.
At Ellis Island, they rallied their inner strengths ignoring insults and indignities.
With astounding performances, they aced mental, physical, and psychological entry exams.
They deserted their land to save their land.
They abandoned their space to make way for it to flourish.
Like an over plowed field it needed rest to replenish.
Now the earth is fertile once more.
Planted in expectant lushness, powerful seeds of example create a bounty
For those who recognize, appreciate, and preserve its beauty.
Allora, I return to my inherited homeland.
I wish my dear departed could be here to smell, touch, and ingest what the children of those who stayed behind have prepared.
Decorated in lace and sequins these younger ones offer me their feast.
Genuine smiles remind me we are all relatives.
They assure me this too is my home.
It’s a place where I will always belong.
This stanza is my room.
I remember standing on a terrazzo balcony gazing beyond the hills to the sea.
I remember the view of nature reflected in columns carved of marble.
I remember rosettes setting off taffeta and velvet fabrics.
I remember arias stirring my emotions.
I remember sitting in the kitchen filling my breaths with the scent of fragrant thyme.
Here the birds awaken me by singing a cappella in falsetto voices.
Here herbs infuse the air of immortals.
Here every house is a villa where the scenery seamlessly flows from the tousling outside grasses to the inside fluff of silk pillows.
Here with my ancestors an inner calm comforts my soul.
With folds of gold and pleats of color, their style complements mine.
It is familiar. It is my father. It is my mother. It is my understanding of true beauty.
Thank you, Italia for welcoming me.
Thank you, Italia, for making my world a place of peace, a place of divine harmony, a place inspired by my parents.
A place they struggled to leave and a place they toiled to build.
Because they showered me with their excellence, it is a space residing in splendor.
If only I could open the gates of heaven, I would dash beyond the threshold and embrace my beloved angels who continue to uphold me.
The blessings they bestow imbue me with unending gratitude.
My desire is to replay their ageless music enticing the next generation to join in the brilliant dance.
They came to America waving the flag of freedom.
They came to America with the determined will of independence.
They came to America to give me the majesty of Italia.
They came to America in order for Italia to regain her wonderment.
Bellisima terra, there and here, then and now, you enhance my spirit a million fold.
That Cat
Following our honeymoon, I moved into my husband’s downtown Boston condo. While Rod was on a shot business trip, I spent the last days of my vacation unpacking boxes deciding what to put where.
Teetering on the highest rung of a ladder I almost lost my balance when the sound of the ringing doorbell startled me.
“Who is it?” I shouted.
“UPS delivery,” a man’s voice answered.
I carried a heavy box down the ladder put it on the floor and, a bit winded, opened the door.
“Sign here,” the man said handing me a digital screen.
I followed his brief instruction.
He pointed to a medium sized carton with the word ‘Fragile’ stamped in red ink on its tan cardboard.
Before I could pick up the box, a black cat stepped past me and crossed the threshold into my house.
“Hey, wait a second,” I shouted, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Ignoring my words, that cat proceeded to jump on the couch and prance across the cushions.
I started toward it, but it made a beeline into the dining room and walked in circles on my table leaving paw prints on the recently polished surface.
“Scoot,” I ordered.
That cat disappeared into the master bedroom.
I followed him and despite my annoyance, I almost smiled at how beautiful he looked stretched out on my ivory colored spread.
“Scat, scat,” I ranted.
The cat slithered off the bed leaving a trail of black hairs. He climbed up on my vanity and nudged an expensive perfume bottle with its nose.
I clapped my hands as loud as I could.
Maybe I frightened him, because that cat ran out of the bedroom and out of the house. It crossed my front patio and vanished into the neighboring greenbelt.
Relieved that cat was gone I lifted the lightweight carton, walked back inside and slammed the front door shut.
I stared at the box. From its return address, I knew it was from my mother-law, Jan.
How nice of her to send us a housewarming present. I wondered why she shipped it rather than bringing it with her when she came to lunch the following day.
Using a razorblade, I cut through the clear tape and read her card:
Dear Sarah and Rod:
This box contains our first wedding gift given to us by my Aunt Trudy. I’m passing it on to you as a family heirloom or at least a family tradition.
Hope you enjoy it.
Love, Mom & Dad
As I removed the layers of protective wrap from the box, I vaguely remembered Jan showing me her first wedding gift. What came to mind was an unattractive abstract white sculpture. I thought I must be mistaken. Jan was a woman of excellent taste. Surely, any gift from her would be lovely.
Removing a few sheets of tissue paper, I stared at an abominable object realizing it was even uglier than my recollection.
I said aloud, “Where can I put this eyesore? This condo is too small to hide such a hideous piece.”
Rod’s mother would be here in less than twenty-four hours. Not only did I have to have everything in place I, also, had to find a spot to showcase her ‘gift’.
To get the sculpture out of the way I placed it on the kitchen table.
After spending hours unpacking, I flattened empty boxes and lifted a bundle intending to put it in the outside trash container.
As soon as I opened the door, that cat scooted into the house.
Before I could stop it, I watched it go straight into the kitchen. In a blink of an eye, it leaped up to the back of a chair, seemed to fly through the air and sailed through Jan’s present. The white thing fell to the tile floor and smashed into hundreds of pieces.
“Oh no.” I cried, “Not that piece.”
I picked up fragments trying to put them together, but quickly realized the futility of my efforts. There was no way to repair the object.
That cat had disappeared. I checked in the pantry, in the bathroom and under the beds, but couldn’t find it. I assumed it left through the opened door when I screamed.
I was wrong.
Hours later, while tucked in bed exhausted, that cat kept me awake playing with a string dangling from under my mattress.
When I opened my eyes next morning, that cat’s black head was resting on my pillow. It opened its green eyes reminding me of its sinister nature.
I grabbed that cat. I opened the patio door, and deposited him in the tiny courtyard.
Jan was to arrive in a few hours. I scrambled to dust, polish, and vacuum the rooms. I scrubbed bathroom fixtures and mopped the floors. I prepared two individual quiches, a toss salad and lemon ice tea.
I checked the sponge cake, cut strawberries, and whipped cream. I sprayed the kitchen counters.
I took a quick shower and dressed. As I was brushing my hair, the doorbell rang.
Ready or not, I greeted Jan.
First thing she asked was, “Did you get my gift?”
While I attempted to swallow my shame, she dashed past me.
“Can’t wait to see where you put it.”
She walked through the living room. “The place looks great. You transformed Rod’s bachelor pad into a real homey space.”
“Well…,” I began.
“Nice decorating job. I can see Aunt Trudy’s gift doesn’t match the décor. Guess you found the perfect spot in your bedroom.”
She perused the master bedroom. She peeked into the master bath. “Never saw this place so clean.” She moved down the hall into the guest room.
“Oh I get it. You want my approval of where to put it. Sweet of you dear, but the art object is yours now to do with as you please.”
She walked to the hall closet. “Is it in here?” When she opened the closet door, that cat jumped on her beautiful tailored suit.
“Oh I’m so sorry. I thought I left him outside.”
“When did you and Rod get a cat?”
“He’s not mine, ours I mean. He just popped in several times since I arrived. He even spent the night in bed with me.”
“How nice of it to keep you company.”
That cat cuddled up in Jan’s arms. She petted its fluffy fur. That cat softly purred.
“Cute critter. Why don’t you keep it?”
It was time for a confession. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Alright I’ll help you decide where to put our family treasure.”
Before she could say another word, I blurted out, “I’m so sorry, but the sculpture fell and broke into too many pieces to fix.”
“How did it fall?”
My eyes looked down on that cat.
Jan stroked its black fur for a moment. “I knew he was a wise animal.”
Confused, I stared at her.
“Always hated Aunt Trudy’s gift, but never had the courage to tell her. I lived with it for all these years each day looking at it knowing what a coward I was.”
She placed one hand on my shoulder. “Sorry I tried to pawn it off on you.”
I reached over and kissed her cheek.
Jan transferred that cat into my arms saying, “Enjoy the new addition to your family.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I shared, “I already appreciate him.”
Following our honeymoon, I moved into my husband’s downtown Boston condo. While Rod was on a shot business trip, I spent the last days of my vacation unpacking boxes deciding what to put where.
Teetering on the highest rung of a ladder I almost lost my balance when the sound of the ringing doorbell startled me.
“Who is it?” I shouted.
“UPS delivery,” a man’s voice answered.
I carried a heavy box down the ladder put it on the floor and, a bit winded, opened the door.
“Sign here,” the man said handing me a digital screen.
I followed his brief instruction.
He pointed to a medium sized carton with the word ‘Fragile’ stamped in red ink on its tan cardboard.
Before I could pick up the box, a black cat stepped past me and crossed the threshold into my house.
“Hey, wait a second,” I shouted, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Ignoring my words, that cat proceeded to jump on the couch and prance across the cushions.
I started toward it, but it made a beeline into the dining room and walked in circles on my table leaving paw prints on the recently polished surface.
“Scoot,” I ordered.
That cat disappeared into the master bedroom.
I followed him and despite my annoyance, I almost smiled at how beautiful he looked stretched out on my ivory colored spread.
“Scat, scat,” I ranted.
The cat slithered off the bed leaving a trail of black hairs. He climbed up on my vanity and nudged an expensive perfume bottle with its nose.
I clapped my hands as loud as I could.
Maybe I frightened him, because that cat ran out of the bedroom and out of the house. It crossed my front patio and vanished into the neighboring greenbelt.
Relieved that cat was gone I lifted the lightweight carton, walked back inside and slammed the front door shut.
I stared at the box. From its return address, I knew it was from my mother-law, Jan.
How nice of her to send us a housewarming present. I wondered why she shipped it rather than bringing it with her when she came to lunch the following day.
Using a razorblade, I cut through the clear tape and read her card:
Dear Sarah and Rod:
This box contains our first wedding gift given to us by my Aunt Trudy. I’m passing it on to you as a family heirloom or at least a family tradition.
Hope you enjoy it.
Love, Mom & Dad
As I removed the layers of protective wrap from the box, I vaguely remembered Jan showing me her first wedding gift. What came to mind was an unattractive abstract white sculpture. I thought I must be mistaken. Jan was a woman of excellent taste. Surely, any gift from her would be lovely.
Removing a few sheets of tissue paper, I stared at an abominable object realizing it was even uglier than my recollection.
I said aloud, “Where can I put this eyesore? This condo is too small to hide such a hideous piece.”
Rod’s mother would be here in less than twenty-four hours. Not only did I have to have everything in place I, also, had to find a spot to showcase her ‘gift’.
To get the sculpture out of the way I placed it on the kitchen table.
After spending hours unpacking, I flattened empty boxes and lifted a bundle intending to put it in the outside trash container.
As soon as I opened the door, that cat scooted into the house.
Before I could stop it, I watched it go straight into the kitchen. In a blink of an eye, it leaped up to the back of a chair, seemed to fly through the air and sailed through Jan’s present. The white thing fell to the tile floor and smashed into hundreds of pieces.
“Oh no.” I cried, “Not that piece.”
I picked up fragments trying to put them together, but quickly realized the futility of my efforts. There was no way to repair the object.
That cat had disappeared. I checked in the pantry, in the bathroom and under the beds, but couldn’t find it. I assumed it left through the opened door when I screamed.
I was wrong.
Hours later, while tucked in bed exhausted, that cat kept me awake playing with a string dangling from under my mattress.
When I opened my eyes next morning, that cat’s black head was resting on my pillow. It opened its green eyes reminding me of its sinister nature.
I grabbed that cat. I opened the patio door, and deposited him in the tiny courtyard.
Jan was to arrive in a few hours. I scrambled to dust, polish, and vacuum the rooms. I scrubbed bathroom fixtures and mopped the floors. I prepared two individual quiches, a toss salad and lemon ice tea.
I checked the sponge cake, cut strawberries, and whipped cream. I sprayed the kitchen counters.
I took a quick shower and dressed. As I was brushing my hair, the doorbell rang.
Ready or not, I greeted Jan.
First thing she asked was, “Did you get my gift?”
While I attempted to swallow my shame, she dashed past me.
“Can’t wait to see where you put it.”
She walked through the living room. “The place looks great. You transformed Rod’s bachelor pad into a real homey space.”
“Well…,” I began.
“Nice decorating job. I can see Aunt Trudy’s gift doesn’t match the décor. Guess you found the perfect spot in your bedroom.”
She perused the master bedroom. She peeked into the master bath. “Never saw this place so clean.” She moved down the hall into the guest room.
“Oh I get it. You want my approval of where to put it. Sweet of you dear, but the art object is yours now to do with as you please.”
She walked to the hall closet. “Is it in here?” When she opened the closet door, that cat jumped on her beautiful tailored suit.
“Oh I’m so sorry. I thought I left him outside.”
“When did you and Rod get a cat?”
“He’s not mine, ours I mean. He just popped in several times since I arrived. He even spent the night in bed with me.”
“How nice of it to keep you company.”
That cat cuddled up in Jan’s arms. She petted its fluffy fur. That cat softly purred.
“Cute critter. Why don’t you keep it?”
It was time for a confession. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Alright I’ll help you decide where to put our family treasure.”
Before she could say another word, I blurted out, “I’m so sorry, but the sculpture fell and broke into too many pieces to fix.”
“How did it fall?”
My eyes looked down on that cat.
Jan stroked its black fur for a moment. “I knew he was a wise animal.”
Confused, I stared at her.
“Always hated Aunt Trudy’s gift, but never had the courage to tell her. I lived with it for all these years each day looking at it knowing what a coward I was.”
She placed one hand on my shoulder. “Sorry I tried to pawn it off on you.”
I reached over and kissed her cheek.
Jan transferred that cat into my arms saying, “Enjoy the new addition to your family.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I shared, “I already appreciate him.”
Lullaby
By E. B. Sullivan
Having washed grime from her once feminine hands, Rita Moro glanced at her wrinkled brow in the bathroom mirror. With great apprehension she wondered how she could face the daughter she foolishly gave away fifty-two years ago.
Gardening usually replenished her, but this particular morning, it raised her anxiety. Perhaps this had more to do with her anticipated mingling with people rather than her recent interactions with plants.
After five long decades, she planned to have contact with her daughter. At six o’clock that evening, they would meet for a second time. Preparing for the important visit, Rita removed her clothing, ripped off the morphine patch, and stepped into the shower. As the water sprayed her sickly frame, she felt trapped in an abyss of memories.
Though she often wanted to locate her little girl, until recently, she decided against it by telling herself she didn’t want to disrupt her daughter’s life. In truth, Rita felt ashamed of her dreadful deed, and knew she deserved severe chastising for having abandoned her infant.
Seven months earlier when diagnosed with cancer, Rita began the search for her daughter. She intended to use the information for the legal purpose of establishing a trust fund for her only heir.
As a well-respected author, Rita focused her attention on creating fanciful books for young boys and girls. While her products, including full-length motion pictures, delighted children, and brought fame and riches they failed to alleviate her lingering daily guilt.
At no time did Rita believe material things could compensate for all she previously failed to provide. Nor would she seek any approval or forgiveness. In fact, Rita decided to give her child the substantial inheritance anonymously.
To her surprise, she easily located her daughter. Two brief meetings with a private investigator produced a detailed report including names and locations.
Much of the data Rita received astounded her especially the fact others called her little girl Zoe. Of course, the child needed a real name, but for over half a century Rita referred to the person, she helped bring into this world simply as Baby.
At today’s rendezvous, Rita would not share the details of her compounded mistakes. Nor did she intend to make excuses for her previous actions. She saw no need to explain her selfish behavior. As an insensitive teen, she thought only of her own future and opportunities. It would do no good to describe the confusion she felt as a seventeen year old ostracized by her family and condemned by their moral convictions.
She saw no point in telling Zoe anything about her natural father. At the time of conception, he was only a boy. Not ready for the commitment of parenthood he joined the Marines and allowed Rita to make the final decision regarding the fate of their child. It certainly did not seem important to impose even a hint of sadness upon Zoe by informing her of his tragic death. With valor, he served this country. Twenty-six days after the adoption of their baby he died in a skirmish not even considered a war.
It made no difference what Rita and the unborn child went through together: a pronounced and prolonged period of morning sickness, hypertension, edema and complications leading to a cesarean section. One fact remained pertinent. Since Zoe’s miraculous delivery, mother and daughter, lived separate lives as complete strangers.
In the hazy months following the blessed birth, Rita recalled sorting through the debris of her devastating choice. With great sorrow she concluded somewhere in the rumble she lost the true reason for her existence.
Books became her sole diversion. In this solitary world of reading, drawing and writing Rita attempted to escape into the world of make-believe. Alas, even in this imagined universe, she could not avoid the pangs of never-ending heartache.
Rita stepped out of the shower. Without the morphine patch, indescribable physical distress consumed much of her energy. Still rather than having the luxury of medication, Rita chose coherency and alertness for her appointment with Zoe.
Unaccustomed to such a keen state of awareness her horrific appearance startled her. Sunken eyes and protruding bones resembled a cadaver. With a great deal of difficulty, she combed the sparse strands of her stringy gray hair. As hard as she tried no amount of make-up freshen her pallid flesh.
Once dressed she gazed in the full-length mirror and flinched at how her shoulders pathetically drooped under the classic design of her expensive new suit.
One final detail remained. Her gnarled fingers fumbled until she fastened the clasp of an old chain. She wore this piece of jewelry every day, because it allowed a simple locket to swing over her heart.
Taking slow deliberate steps, she made her way outside. Her heels clicked on the stone path. When she stopped moving her entire mind, body, and spirit attended to this day filled with life. In the distance a dog barked, a plane flew overhead, and a multicolored butterfly fluttered before her eyes. Under a sky of crystal clarity, she composed herself as she focused on her sacred mission.
Arriving a few minutes early, the cab then fell behind schedule as it slowly inched through the hectic downtown traffic. The driver talked incessantly about nothing in particular. Her ears perked up when Rita heard him say, “Bad day to be going to the Hilton, Lady. That’s where the inaugural shin-dig’s going on.”
“Yes. I know,” Rita said. Her heart swelled with a pride only a parent could feel.
Rita felt thankful to the out-going Governor. In appreciation for Rita’s considerable campaign contributions for the candidate of his choice, he invited Rita to this gala ceremony.
Fatigued and frustrated by the prolonged journey Rita drifted off in thought. Her daydreams overflowed with the joys of motherhood. For a few moments, she existed back in time. There she marveled at the tiny innocent beauty wrapped in a pale pink receiving blanket. Her lips brushed the soft skin. She inhaled the delicate scent. Her eyes recorded the perfection of each feature. She heard her miracle emit a tender cry.
Rita began to hum a sweet lullaby. With each note, her heartbeats reinforced a single truth. She knew there would be no greater love.
All too soon, the dream turned into an ugly nightmare. A nurse snatched the baby from Rita’s arms. The room darkened.
“Give her back,” Rita screamed. “I can’t live without her.”
“What you’d say?” The cabby’s brusque voice roused her.
“Have we arrived?”
“Yea, we’re here, ma’am, at the Hilton.”
Thousands of people came to honor the newly elected dignitary, her Baby. Taking in the aura of excitement Rita felt vindicated for having stayed out of Zoe’s life. It seemed impossible to believe a mortal such as Rita gave birth to a genuine angel. However, whoever raised her child accepted and committed to an almost insurmountable task. For the remarkable job these true parents performed, Rita said a silent prayer of indebtedness.
Somehow, despite her overwhelming discomfort, Rita managed to find her seat at one of the circular tables. She took a few deep breaths and waited. Moments, later thunderous applause welcomed the new governor, her daughter, Zoe Anderson.
Rising to her feet, Rita clapped and cheered. The rest of the audience joined in a congratulatory welcome, but she alone beamed with maternal love.
Victorious enthusiasm summed up the governor’s tone. Rita felt Zoe spoke to Rita personally when Zoe said, “It’s wonderful to see you this evening.” Rita wanted to believe Zoe spoke to her alone when she added, “With genuine gratitude I want to thank you for the part you played in my life.”
A combination of elation and agony caused Rita’s heart to pound at a frightening rate. Unnoticed in the distracted crowd she slipped out of the double doors of the reception area. All the while, her palm clutched the tarnished pendant dangling around her neck. Among the throng gathered in the hall, Rita made her way to an alcove where she slithered down to the floor gasping for air.
A secret service agent who observed Rita ran to offer assistance. On his knees he asked, “Can I help you ma’am?”
Collecting the last reserve of her strength, she tried to speak in a clear voice, “Tell the governor I’m sorry.”
“Sure ma’am,” he said respectfully. “I’m certain she’ll understand.”
Rita struggled to lift her head as her eyes met his, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
Her spine gracefully reclined. For a time she rested. With both hands, she clutched her locket. Her fingers opened it, and rubbed the pictures encased in glass. She began to hum the sweet lullaby from her dream. A sublime expression spread across her face.
Rita felt strong arms lifting her body up unto a stretcher.
A soft touch rejuvenated her. Her eyelids fluttered. She released the locket and reached towards her Baby, Zoe. Rita watched her smiling daughter peer at the open locket. One side revealed a faded photograph of a newborn infant. On the other side, a glossy picture of Governor Zoe Anderson shone in the light.
By E. B. Sullivan
Having washed grime from her once feminine hands, Rita Moro glanced at her wrinkled brow in the bathroom mirror. With great apprehension she wondered how she could face the daughter she foolishly gave away fifty-two years ago.
Gardening usually replenished her, but this particular morning, it raised her anxiety. Perhaps this had more to do with her anticipated mingling with people rather than her recent interactions with plants.
After five long decades, she planned to have contact with her daughter. At six o’clock that evening, they would meet for a second time. Preparing for the important visit, Rita removed her clothing, ripped off the morphine patch, and stepped into the shower. As the water sprayed her sickly frame, she felt trapped in an abyss of memories.
Though she often wanted to locate her little girl, until recently, she decided against it by telling herself she didn’t want to disrupt her daughter’s life. In truth, Rita felt ashamed of her dreadful deed, and knew she deserved severe chastising for having abandoned her infant.
Seven months earlier when diagnosed with cancer, Rita began the search for her daughter. She intended to use the information for the legal purpose of establishing a trust fund for her only heir.
As a well-respected author, Rita focused her attention on creating fanciful books for young boys and girls. While her products, including full-length motion pictures, delighted children, and brought fame and riches they failed to alleviate her lingering daily guilt.
At no time did Rita believe material things could compensate for all she previously failed to provide. Nor would she seek any approval or forgiveness. In fact, Rita decided to give her child the substantial inheritance anonymously.
To her surprise, she easily located her daughter. Two brief meetings with a private investigator produced a detailed report including names and locations.
Much of the data Rita received astounded her especially the fact others called her little girl Zoe. Of course, the child needed a real name, but for over half a century Rita referred to the person, she helped bring into this world simply as Baby.
At today’s rendezvous, Rita would not share the details of her compounded mistakes. Nor did she intend to make excuses for her previous actions. She saw no need to explain her selfish behavior. As an insensitive teen, she thought only of her own future and opportunities. It would do no good to describe the confusion she felt as a seventeen year old ostracized by her family and condemned by their moral convictions.
She saw no point in telling Zoe anything about her natural father. At the time of conception, he was only a boy. Not ready for the commitment of parenthood he joined the Marines and allowed Rita to make the final decision regarding the fate of their child. It certainly did not seem important to impose even a hint of sadness upon Zoe by informing her of his tragic death. With valor, he served this country. Twenty-six days after the adoption of their baby he died in a skirmish not even considered a war.
It made no difference what Rita and the unborn child went through together: a pronounced and prolonged period of morning sickness, hypertension, edema and complications leading to a cesarean section. One fact remained pertinent. Since Zoe’s miraculous delivery, mother and daughter, lived separate lives as complete strangers.
In the hazy months following the blessed birth, Rita recalled sorting through the debris of her devastating choice. With great sorrow she concluded somewhere in the rumble she lost the true reason for her existence.
Books became her sole diversion. In this solitary world of reading, drawing and writing Rita attempted to escape into the world of make-believe. Alas, even in this imagined universe, she could not avoid the pangs of never-ending heartache.
Rita stepped out of the shower. Without the morphine patch, indescribable physical distress consumed much of her energy. Still rather than having the luxury of medication, Rita chose coherency and alertness for her appointment with Zoe.
Unaccustomed to such a keen state of awareness her horrific appearance startled her. Sunken eyes and protruding bones resembled a cadaver. With a great deal of difficulty, she combed the sparse strands of her stringy gray hair. As hard as she tried no amount of make-up freshen her pallid flesh.
Once dressed she gazed in the full-length mirror and flinched at how her shoulders pathetically drooped under the classic design of her expensive new suit.
One final detail remained. Her gnarled fingers fumbled until she fastened the clasp of an old chain. She wore this piece of jewelry every day, because it allowed a simple locket to swing over her heart.
Taking slow deliberate steps, she made her way outside. Her heels clicked on the stone path. When she stopped moving her entire mind, body, and spirit attended to this day filled with life. In the distance a dog barked, a plane flew overhead, and a multicolored butterfly fluttered before her eyes. Under a sky of crystal clarity, she composed herself as she focused on her sacred mission.
Arriving a few minutes early, the cab then fell behind schedule as it slowly inched through the hectic downtown traffic. The driver talked incessantly about nothing in particular. Her ears perked up when Rita heard him say, “Bad day to be going to the Hilton, Lady. That’s where the inaugural shin-dig’s going on.”
“Yes. I know,” Rita said. Her heart swelled with a pride only a parent could feel.
Rita felt thankful to the out-going Governor. In appreciation for Rita’s considerable campaign contributions for the candidate of his choice, he invited Rita to this gala ceremony.
Fatigued and frustrated by the prolonged journey Rita drifted off in thought. Her daydreams overflowed with the joys of motherhood. For a few moments, she existed back in time. There she marveled at the tiny innocent beauty wrapped in a pale pink receiving blanket. Her lips brushed the soft skin. She inhaled the delicate scent. Her eyes recorded the perfection of each feature. She heard her miracle emit a tender cry.
Rita began to hum a sweet lullaby. With each note, her heartbeats reinforced a single truth. She knew there would be no greater love.
All too soon, the dream turned into an ugly nightmare. A nurse snatched the baby from Rita’s arms. The room darkened.
“Give her back,” Rita screamed. “I can’t live without her.”
“What you’d say?” The cabby’s brusque voice roused her.
“Have we arrived?”
“Yea, we’re here, ma’am, at the Hilton.”
Thousands of people came to honor the newly elected dignitary, her Baby. Taking in the aura of excitement Rita felt vindicated for having stayed out of Zoe’s life. It seemed impossible to believe a mortal such as Rita gave birth to a genuine angel. However, whoever raised her child accepted and committed to an almost insurmountable task. For the remarkable job these true parents performed, Rita said a silent prayer of indebtedness.
Somehow, despite her overwhelming discomfort, Rita managed to find her seat at one of the circular tables. She took a few deep breaths and waited. Moments, later thunderous applause welcomed the new governor, her daughter, Zoe Anderson.
Rising to her feet, Rita clapped and cheered. The rest of the audience joined in a congratulatory welcome, but she alone beamed with maternal love.
Victorious enthusiasm summed up the governor’s tone. Rita felt Zoe spoke to Rita personally when Zoe said, “It’s wonderful to see you this evening.” Rita wanted to believe Zoe spoke to her alone when she added, “With genuine gratitude I want to thank you for the part you played in my life.”
A combination of elation and agony caused Rita’s heart to pound at a frightening rate. Unnoticed in the distracted crowd she slipped out of the double doors of the reception area. All the while, her palm clutched the tarnished pendant dangling around her neck. Among the throng gathered in the hall, Rita made her way to an alcove where she slithered down to the floor gasping for air.
A secret service agent who observed Rita ran to offer assistance. On his knees he asked, “Can I help you ma’am?”
Collecting the last reserve of her strength, she tried to speak in a clear voice, “Tell the governor I’m sorry.”
“Sure ma’am,” he said respectfully. “I’m certain she’ll understand.”
Rita struggled to lift her head as her eyes met his, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
Her spine gracefully reclined. For a time she rested. With both hands, she clutched her locket. Her fingers opened it, and rubbed the pictures encased in glass. She began to hum the sweet lullaby from her dream. A sublime expression spread across her face.
Rita felt strong arms lifting her body up unto a stretcher.
A soft touch rejuvenated her. Her eyelids fluttered. She released the locket and reached towards her Baby, Zoe. Rita watched her smiling daughter peer at the open locket. One side revealed a faded photograph of a newborn infant. On the other side, a glossy picture of Governor Zoe Anderson shone in the light.
Who Is the Enemy?
Brightness stabbed my eyes. I could no longer see. Loudness pierced my ears. I could no longer hear. The stench from burning flesh caused my body to swoon. Intense heat melted my innocent hope. Within minutes, a mushroom cloud hovered over my village. Its source killed my family, destroyed my home, and transformed my youthful being into an ancient one.
Suffocating rubble entombed me. Cowering in a state of disbelief no thoughts could comprehend the ramifications of this unthinkable deed.
I cried out, “Haha, Okaasan.”
My mother did not answer.
Through the layers of debris, rough hands heaved away chunks of random materials. While freeing me from this dismal crypt fingers probed my nonresponsive body awakening my suspended-soul.
My lips moved. “Has the world come to an end?”
The harsh reply cast me into a state of terror. “Alas, ours is finished.”
From beneath my lids, a gray film obliterated all shades of color. My diminished sight searched for a blade of grass, but could not find one. My fingertips groped for softness until they bled from contact with jagged shards of metal and glass. A constant bitter taste choked my cottonmouth. My breath gasped for fresh
air. Dust hung like clumps of heavy snow on the branches of my lungs making me cough and wheeze.
I longed to inhale the scent of a flower. My wobbly legs traveled through the ruins. In my path grotesque caricatures masked ordinary faces, mangled limbs dangled. The din of mournful groans chanted to an elevated pitch. To my horror, I realized blossoms along with all things beautiful no longer
inhabited my once familiar space.
Some days later, aboard a ship smeared with filth, I sailed to Tokyo. Working along with a crowd of strangers, I attempted to do my part to restore our postwar
nation. In the bustling city, I indulged in the luxury of bathing. Soon I discovered no amount of water could wash away the vile atomic slime permeating my bones.
I contacted relatives. Aunts, uncles, and cousins I had visited in previous years. My form yearned for their embrace. My mind anticipated their welcome.
Through closed doors, their words sliced my heart. “Our sorrow for your predicament overwhelms us. You understand, of course, we have young ones. It’s
impossible for you to enter.”
Fearing the poison was contagious, they justifiably turned me away. Unseen by them I bowed in shame. “Forgive my foolishness.”
I traveled to the foothills of snowcapped Mount Fuji. To a significant degree, its remoteness spared the area from the outward signs of war. A scatter of fallen leaves decorated the landscape. Despite the chill in the air, the sight of vegetation calmed my grieving spirit. As I approached the family of my betrothed, an inner debate between naïve beliefs and a sense of logic ensued. Disregarding wisdom, I pressed forward.
“It is our responsibility to protect the interests of our son.” Their eyes lowered. “Under the circumstances, you are released from the contract made by your
honorable deceased father.”
“Certainly,” I muttered.
At the boarding house, the females shared their stories. In silence, I listened. With the others, I shed tears. To each I extended my shoulder.
“It is your turn.”
“Yes, we want to comfort you, too.”
Once these kind companions learnt of my past, no woman showed me respect.
Like a shadow, I passed through the subsequent months. Unclean and damaged I received the punishment of societal banishment. No one else divulged coming from Hiroshima or Nagasaki. None claimed the rancid islands as their home.
Salvation came to me through my studies. These consumed the unclaimed hours of my days. In isolation I teased my mind with lofty philosophies, nurtured my heart with idealistic fantasies.
Through subtle prompts, the population nudged me farther away.
“Opportunities for your kind exist in America,” they told me. “There your past will not be known.”
In time, I saved the funds to purchase a transpacific liner ticket. Sheets of rain attached to rising waves pounded our vessel. My stomach sloshed. Dizzy and
nauseous I stayed in my bunk.
When the ship docked, I was pale, weak, and alone. My feet took small steps until they rested in front of the immigration desk.
“Your name,” a male voice bellowed.
“Maka,” I whispered. I peered into his eyes. Like hot coals, they seared through me.
“Your full name,” he shouted.
“Maka Yodi.”
With scores of other immigrants, I shuffled along. Herded into tents we waited for further instruction. One by one, we received our assignments. Due to my
education, I secured a better position than most. Segregated from most Americans a Japanese ghetto became my new home. From experience, I kept my
lips sealed regarding my background.
I worked in a large metropolis and could not avoid the natives. Many stared while others turned away. My trembling form found it difficult to navigate the crowded streets. An inert paralyzes competed with an urge to flee. The result caused me to move along in choppy increments. Wild thoughts
dominated. Perhaps in this throng walked the person responsible for creating, or ordering, or dropping the annihilating bomb.
To calm my rioting mind I spied glimpses of passing faces. Like a tsunami, a strong current of trepidation retreated for brief moments. Apprehension returned with a mountain of awareness. My soul encountered a plethora of pain. In the name of war, these innocents lost their love ones, too. Atrocious circumstances caused them to suffer. How could they not hate me? To them I represented the Japanese Empire, the planes over Pearl Harbor, the battalions of troops hidden in
island jungles, and cruel guards torturing their kin in sweltering prison camps.
I wanted to reassure them. I wanted to provide them with solace. I wanted them to forgive me.
Through the din of indistinguishable voices, I heard my own ask, “Who is the enemy?”
Without hesitation I answered, "War."
The End
Brightness stabbed my eyes. I could no longer see. Loudness pierced my ears. I could no longer hear. The stench from burning flesh caused my body to swoon. Intense heat melted my innocent hope. Within minutes, a mushroom cloud hovered over my village. Its source killed my family, destroyed my home, and transformed my youthful being into an ancient one.
Suffocating rubble entombed me. Cowering in a state of disbelief no thoughts could comprehend the ramifications of this unthinkable deed.
I cried out, “Haha, Okaasan.”
My mother did not answer.
Through the layers of debris, rough hands heaved away chunks of random materials. While freeing me from this dismal crypt fingers probed my nonresponsive body awakening my suspended-soul.
My lips moved. “Has the world come to an end?”
The harsh reply cast me into a state of terror. “Alas, ours is finished.”
From beneath my lids, a gray film obliterated all shades of color. My diminished sight searched for a blade of grass, but could not find one. My fingertips groped for softness until they bled from contact with jagged shards of metal and glass. A constant bitter taste choked my cottonmouth. My breath gasped for fresh
air. Dust hung like clumps of heavy snow on the branches of my lungs making me cough and wheeze.
I longed to inhale the scent of a flower. My wobbly legs traveled through the ruins. In my path grotesque caricatures masked ordinary faces, mangled limbs dangled. The din of mournful groans chanted to an elevated pitch. To my horror, I realized blossoms along with all things beautiful no longer
inhabited my once familiar space.
Some days later, aboard a ship smeared with filth, I sailed to Tokyo. Working along with a crowd of strangers, I attempted to do my part to restore our postwar
nation. In the bustling city, I indulged in the luxury of bathing. Soon I discovered no amount of water could wash away the vile atomic slime permeating my bones.
I contacted relatives. Aunts, uncles, and cousins I had visited in previous years. My form yearned for their embrace. My mind anticipated their welcome.
Through closed doors, their words sliced my heart. “Our sorrow for your predicament overwhelms us. You understand, of course, we have young ones. It’s
impossible for you to enter.”
Fearing the poison was contagious, they justifiably turned me away. Unseen by them I bowed in shame. “Forgive my foolishness.”
I traveled to the foothills of snowcapped Mount Fuji. To a significant degree, its remoteness spared the area from the outward signs of war. A scatter of fallen leaves decorated the landscape. Despite the chill in the air, the sight of vegetation calmed my grieving spirit. As I approached the family of my betrothed, an inner debate between naïve beliefs and a sense of logic ensued. Disregarding wisdom, I pressed forward.
“It is our responsibility to protect the interests of our son.” Their eyes lowered. “Under the circumstances, you are released from the contract made by your
honorable deceased father.”
“Certainly,” I muttered.
At the boarding house, the females shared their stories. In silence, I listened. With the others, I shed tears. To each I extended my shoulder.
“It is your turn.”
“Yes, we want to comfort you, too.”
Once these kind companions learnt of my past, no woman showed me respect.
Like a shadow, I passed through the subsequent months. Unclean and damaged I received the punishment of societal banishment. No one else divulged coming from Hiroshima or Nagasaki. None claimed the rancid islands as their home.
Salvation came to me through my studies. These consumed the unclaimed hours of my days. In isolation I teased my mind with lofty philosophies, nurtured my heart with idealistic fantasies.
Through subtle prompts, the population nudged me farther away.
“Opportunities for your kind exist in America,” they told me. “There your past will not be known.”
In time, I saved the funds to purchase a transpacific liner ticket. Sheets of rain attached to rising waves pounded our vessel. My stomach sloshed. Dizzy and
nauseous I stayed in my bunk.
When the ship docked, I was pale, weak, and alone. My feet took small steps until they rested in front of the immigration desk.
“Your name,” a male voice bellowed.
“Maka,” I whispered. I peered into his eyes. Like hot coals, they seared through me.
“Your full name,” he shouted.
“Maka Yodi.”
With scores of other immigrants, I shuffled along. Herded into tents we waited for further instruction. One by one, we received our assignments. Due to my
education, I secured a better position than most. Segregated from most Americans a Japanese ghetto became my new home. From experience, I kept my
lips sealed regarding my background.
I worked in a large metropolis and could not avoid the natives. Many stared while others turned away. My trembling form found it difficult to navigate the crowded streets. An inert paralyzes competed with an urge to flee. The result caused me to move along in choppy increments. Wild thoughts
dominated. Perhaps in this throng walked the person responsible for creating, or ordering, or dropping the annihilating bomb.
To calm my rioting mind I spied glimpses of passing faces. Like a tsunami, a strong current of trepidation retreated for brief moments. Apprehension returned with a mountain of awareness. My soul encountered a plethora of pain. In the name of war, these innocents lost their love ones, too. Atrocious circumstances caused them to suffer. How could they not hate me? To them I represented the Japanese Empire, the planes over Pearl Harbor, the battalions of troops hidden in
island jungles, and cruel guards torturing their kin in sweltering prison camps.
I wanted to reassure them. I wanted to provide them with solace. I wanted them to forgive me.
Through the din of indistinguishable voices, I heard my own ask, “Who is the enemy?”
Without hesitation I answered, "War."
The End
Hoof Prints
Born in the plains of New York City
Nary did I think horses were pretty
‘Til graceful as a ballerina one moseyed by
Lowered his head, looked me straight in the eye
Like a pup, he followed me over my lands
Towering above he measured seventeen hands
His owner, my neighbor wanted to give him away
With tears in my eyes I begged, “Here let him stay”
It was clear this horse choose where he desired to be
A home with no rules, cared for by a greenhorn like me
Online I searched cowboy stories with all kinds of advice
These ran the gambit from natural to definitely not nice
I decided to buy something called tack
Leeds, bits, bridle, saddle, and that
I ordered timothy, pellets, wormer, soap, and cream
When I saw my final bill, I was ready to scream
While my horse was being pampered
I became stressed, tired, and hampered
Barefoot he was trimmed, his coat carefully brushed
Hay stuck in my hair, my toes nearly crushed
My nails split from scratching his belly
Shooing away flies I covered him in jelly
To bathe him I stretched, stained, and teetered on a ladder
All clean, he rolled in dirt as if my efforts didn’t matter
A series of pricey experts one by one came to my place
Vets, equine dentists, farriers, trainers, spoke in my face
“He’s a dangerous unpredictable high strung former race horse that can’t be ridden”
After thought and consideration, I ignored the collective
opinions given
One day, I realized my prince was lonely and needed a
friend
Off to the rescue center I went with lots of money to
spend
On their ranch, this new guy seemed tame, gentle, and easy to
ride
But at home he got permanently attached to my horse’s
side
Folks told me I should get rid of him too ‘cause he’s “barn
sour”
Instead, I allow the duo to roam freely every day and every
hour
It’s doesn’t matter if these horses are expensive ornamental
toys
Because etched in my heart are loving hoof prints of my two
boys
Born in the plains of New York City
Nary did I think horses were pretty
‘Til graceful as a ballerina one moseyed by
Lowered his head, looked me straight in the eye
Like a pup, he followed me over my lands
Towering above he measured seventeen hands
His owner, my neighbor wanted to give him away
With tears in my eyes I begged, “Here let him stay”
It was clear this horse choose where he desired to be
A home with no rules, cared for by a greenhorn like me
Online I searched cowboy stories with all kinds of advice
These ran the gambit from natural to definitely not nice
I decided to buy something called tack
Leeds, bits, bridle, saddle, and that
I ordered timothy, pellets, wormer, soap, and cream
When I saw my final bill, I was ready to scream
While my horse was being pampered
I became stressed, tired, and hampered
Barefoot he was trimmed, his coat carefully brushed
Hay stuck in my hair, my toes nearly crushed
My nails split from scratching his belly
Shooing away flies I covered him in jelly
To bathe him I stretched, stained, and teetered on a ladder
All clean, he rolled in dirt as if my efforts didn’t matter
A series of pricey experts one by one came to my place
Vets, equine dentists, farriers, trainers, spoke in my face
“He’s a dangerous unpredictable high strung former race horse that can’t be ridden”
After thought and consideration, I ignored the collective
opinions given
One day, I realized my prince was lonely and needed a
friend
Off to the rescue center I went with lots of money to
spend
On their ranch, this new guy seemed tame, gentle, and easy to
ride
But at home he got permanently attached to my horse’s
side
Folks told me I should get rid of him too ‘cause he’s “barn
sour”
Instead, I allow the duo to roam freely every day and every
hour
It’s doesn’t matter if these horses are expensive ornamental
toys
Because etched in my heart are loving hoof prints of my two
boys
The Happy Pup
(A Child's Story)
A young pup wanted to explore the world. She started her adventure by jumping over a low fence. The sound of rushing water beckoned. Soon, the pup indulged in the cool wetness.
A bright orange koi fish caught her eye.
“Would you like to play?” the pup asked. She dived beneath the fish attempting to flip it upside down.
“Yes,” said the koi, “catch me if you can.”
The fish disappeared. In its wake, the pup bopped up and down.
The pup was amazed at the quick moving fish. She guessed the koi could help her become the fastest dog of all.
Definitely, the fish would make a great traveling companion. Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the fish. “I’m bound by the borders of this river. I can breathe and live only in a place filled with water.
* * *
The pup ran down a long road.
In the distance, a cloud of dust puffed upward. As she continued, it grew thicker causing her to sneeze. “Ah chew.”
Amid the cloudy air, the pup caught up with a mule.
“Let’s walk together,” said the pup.
“Okay,” said the mule.
Side by side, the two ambled along.
The pup glanced at the mule. Tied on its back were bundles of twigs.
“Is the wood heavy?” asked the pup.
“Not for me.” bragged the mule.
A few steps later the mule stopped.
“Let’s go,” urged the pup.
“After awhile,” responded the mule.
Trying to be patient the pup paused. She counted the many twigs. There were at least one hundred.
The pup ran in circles around the mule, but the mule did not stir.
The pup was amazed at the strong mule. She guessed the mule could help the pup carry just about anything.
Definitely, the mule would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the mule. I’m bound by my choice. I move only when I choose to, and I do not choose to go as fast or as far as you do.
* * *
In slow increments night descended upon the pup.
The moon rose and its radiance lit her way. The glow sparked a renewal inside the pup. She felt so frisky, so peppy, she howled, “Woo…woo…woo...”
The rays from the moon prompted a flurry of activities. The pup could see the land laced with a host of animals moving about.
Moonbeams illuminated the ocean. Haloed light acted like a giant magnet raising the level of the sea, drawing the waves closer and closer to the shore.
High above owls and bats flew.
The pup was amazed at the full moon. She guessed the moon could help the pup have endless energy.
Definitely, the moon would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the moon. “I’m bound by repetition. By morning, I will vanish. Each night, thereafter, I will become smaller and smaller until I’m but a shadow. Then I will grow larger and larger until I’m full once more.
* * *
Beneath twinkling stars, the pup roamed about.
She climbed up hills, scattered leaves, and dug holes.
A cold breeze filled the air.
Her legs felt heavy. Her eyelids fluttered. The pup was sleepy.
Under the shelter of a massive cedar tree, she found a place to rest.
“May I nap beneath your wide green branches?” asked the pup.
“Why yes,” said the tree, “but you might be more comfortable if you nestle up close to my fragrant trunk.”
Protected by the peaceful tree the pup slept for several hours.
When she awakened, the pup stretched several times.
In the first light of morning, she gazed upward. Her neck strained higher and higher until she saw the treetop.
“Thank you great cedar,” the pup shouted.
The pup was amazed at the tall tree. She guessed the cedar could help the pup see forever.
Definitely, the tree would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the tree. “I’m bound by my roots. Like my ancestors, who came before me I will never leave this grove.
***
As dawn was breaking, the pup came upon a meadow. Her paws brushed through grass wet with dew.
A small fluffy jackrabbit hopped back and forth motioning the pup to join in a game.
The pup tried to keep up with the spring-action of the bunny.
The rabbit bounced left and right. It hopped in and out of view.
Spontaneous laughter spilled from the pup.
The bunny darted between bushes scampered behind logs, and raced across the field without being out of breath.
The pup was amazed at the agile rabbit. She guessed the bunny could help the pup jump hither, dither and yon.
Definitely, the rabbit would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the rabbit. I’m bound by the meadow. I’m afraid of new places. I have heard in the city rabbits are cooked and made into stew. I feel safe here, and here is where I will stay.
* * *
In a neighborhood crowded with houses, the pup noticed the antics of an alley cat.
Performing various tricks, the cat appeared to be a one animal circus.
It could slither down low and fit under objects. Climb up high to dangerous heights. Jump into space taking long leaps then land securely on all fours.
The cat could walk on a clothesline perfectly balanced without even holding an umbrella. It could arch its back shrinking up. It could stretch out to twice its size.
The pup was amazed at the clever cat. She guessed the cat could help the pup accomplish an infinite number of tasks.
Definitely, the cat would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the cat. “I’m bound by nature. I believe it’s natural for cats and dogs to be mortal enemies always wanting to fight with each other.
* * *
The young pup jumped over the low fence.
In her own backyard, she took deep breaths of her home’s familiar scents. She climbed the porch steps and rested on a cozy cushion. With her eyes shut, she reflected upon her adventures marveling the new friends she encountered.
A whimper came from deep in her throat. The pup knew she could never be as quick as the fish, as strong as the mule, as full of energy as the moon, as tall as the tree, as agile as the rabbit, or as clever as the cat.
For a short time, the pup felt sad. Then she remembered. Despite its quickness, environment limited the fish. Despite its strength, choice limited the mule. Despite its energy, a repetitive pattern limited the moon. Despite its height, roots limited the tree. Despite its agility, fear limited the rabbit, and despite its cleverness, belief limited the cat.
The pup’s next thought caused a smile to spread within her heart.
The pup realized she was quick enough to have hours of fun. She was strong enough to carry her own weight wherever she went. She was energetic enough to have adventures day after day. She was tall enough to enjoy wondrous sights. She was agile enough to have lots of freedom. Most of all, she was clever enough to appreciate being a happy pup.
(A Child's Story)
A young pup wanted to explore the world. She started her adventure by jumping over a low fence. The sound of rushing water beckoned. Soon, the pup indulged in the cool wetness.
A bright orange koi fish caught her eye.
“Would you like to play?” the pup asked. She dived beneath the fish attempting to flip it upside down.
“Yes,” said the koi, “catch me if you can.”
The fish disappeared. In its wake, the pup bopped up and down.
The pup was amazed at the quick moving fish. She guessed the koi could help her become the fastest dog of all.
Definitely, the fish would make a great traveling companion. Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the fish. “I’m bound by the borders of this river. I can breathe and live only in a place filled with water.
* * *
The pup ran down a long road.
In the distance, a cloud of dust puffed upward. As she continued, it grew thicker causing her to sneeze. “Ah chew.”
Amid the cloudy air, the pup caught up with a mule.
“Let’s walk together,” said the pup.
“Okay,” said the mule.
Side by side, the two ambled along.
The pup glanced at the mule. Tied on its back were bundles of twigs.
“Is the wood heavy?” asked the pup.
“Not for me.” bragged the mule.
A few steps later the mule stopped.
“Let’s go,” urged the pup.
“After awhile,” responded the mule.
Trying to be patient the pup paused. She counted the many twigs. There were at least one hundred.
The pup ran in circles around the mule, but the mule did not stir.
The pup was amazed at the strong mule. She guessed the mule could help the pup carry just about anything.
Definitely, the mule would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the mule. I’m bound by my choice. I move only when I choose to, and I do not choose to go as fast or as far as you do.
* * *
In slow increments night descended upon the pup.
The moon rose and its radiance lit her way. The glow sparked a renewal inside the pup. She felt so frisky, so peppy, she howled, “Woo…woo…woo...”
The rays from the moon prompted a flurry of activities. The pup could see the land laced with a host of animals moving about.
Moonbeams illuminated the ocean. Haloed light acted like a giant magnet raising the level of the sea, drawing the waves closer and closer to the shore.
High above owls and bats flew.
The pup was amazed at the full moon. She guessed the moon could help the pup have endless energy.
Definitely, the moon would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the moon. “I’m bound by repetition. By morning, I will vanish. Each night, thereafter, I will become smaller and smaller until I’m but a shadow. Then I will grow larger and larger until I’m full once more.
* * *
Beneath twinkling stars, the pup roamed about.
She climbed up hills, scattered leaves, and dug holes.
A cold breeze filled the air.
Her legs felt heavy. Her eyelids fluttered. The pup was sleepy.
Under the shelter of a massive cedar tree, she found a place to rest.
“May I nap beneath your wide green branches?” asked the pup.
“Why yes,” said the tree, “but you might be more comfortable if you nestle up close to my fragrant trunk.”
Protected by the peaceful tree the pup slept for several hours.
When she awakened, the pup stretched several times.
In the first light of morning, she gazed upward. Her neck strained higher and higher until she saw the treetop.
“Thank you great cedar,” the pup shouted.
The pup was amazed at the tall tree. She guessed the cedar could help the pup see forever.
Definitely, the tree would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the tree. “I’m bound by my roots. Like my ancestors, who came before me I will never leave this grove.
***
As dawn was breaking, the pup came upon a meadow. Her paws brushed through grass wet with dew.
A small fluffy jackrabbit hopped back and forth motioning the pup to join in a game.
The pup tried to keep up with the spring-action of the bunny.
The rabbit bounced left and right. It hopped in and out of view.
Spontaneous laughter spilled from the pup.
The bunny darted between bushes scampered behind logs, and raced across the field without being out of breath.
The pup was amazed at the agile rabbit. She guessed the bunny could help the pup jump hither, dither and yon.
Definitely, the rabbit would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the rabbit. I’m bound by the meadow. I’m afraid of new places. I have heard in the city rabbits are cooked and made into stew. I feel safe here, and here is where I will stay.
* * *
In a neighborhood crowded with houses, the pup noticed the antics of an alley cat.
Performing various tricks, the cat appeared to be a one animal circus.
It could slither down low and fit under objects. Climb up high to dangerous heights. Jump into space taking long leaps then land securely on all fours.
The cat could walk on a clothesline perfectly balanced without even holding an umbrella. It could arch its back shrinking up. It could stretch out to twice its size.
The pup was amazed at the clever cat. She guessed the cat could help the pup accomplish an infinite number of tasks.
Definitely, the cat would make a great traveling companion.
Therefore, the pup requested, “Friend, come along with me.”
“Oh no, I cannot,” replied the cat. “I’m bound by nature. I believe it’s natural for cats and dogs to be mortal enemies always wanting to fight with each other.
* * *
The young pup jumped over the low fence.
In her own backyard, she took deep breaths of her home’s familiar scents. She climbed the porch steps and rested on a cozy cushion. With her eyes shut, she reflected upon her adventures marveling the new friends she encountered.
A whimper came from deep in her throat. The pup knew she could never be as quick as the fish, as strong as the mule, as full of energy as the moon, as tall as the tree, as agile as the rabbit, or as clever as the cat.
For a short time, the pup felt sad. Then she remembered. Despite its quickness, environment limited the fish. Despite its strength, choice limited the mule. Despite its energy, a repetitive pattern limited the moon. Despite its height, roots limited the tree. Despite its agility, fear limited the rabbit, and despite its cleverness, belief limited the cat.
The pup’s next thought caused a smile to spread within her heart.
The pup realized she was quick enough to have hours of fun. She was strong enough to carry her own weight wherever she went. She was energetic enough to have adventures day after day. She was tall enough to enjoy wondrous sights. She was agile enough to have lots of freedom. Most of all, she was clever enough to appreciate being a happy pup.
The following story is true:
The Bath
by E.B. Sullivan
Crimson rays from the setting sun filtered through the small window above our cast iron bathtub. Like a prism, the beveled glass created a pattern of iridescent light reflecting on the clear steamy water.
With ease my mother regulated the cross handled knobs of a faucet until they emitted a continuous flow of cascading tepid liquid.
Draped in fluffy terrycloth I timidly dangled my bare right foot over the foggy vapor. Slowly I submerged my wiggling toes into its depths. Instantly a tingly pulsation rushed through my leg. This sensation lured me to toss off my scanty covering and enter the inviting warm pool.
From a dark green curvy bottle, my mother poured out a thick stream of magical fluid. Upon contact with the bathwater, it ignited into white foamy mounds.
With gleeful delight, I allowed the newly formed bubbles to engulf my entire five-year old bony frame.
After propelling myself to a specific location, I rested my tummy flatly on the tub’s hard surface. Entwining my narrow ankles, I rhythmically folded and unfolded my spindly legs. As I moved my lower extremities, displaced water, first splashed high above me then showered down drenching my head of long black curls.
Engaging me in a game of make believe my mother in her gentle voice would say, “Lovely, pearly mermaid it’s so nice to see you again. Please, tell me about the fish who live in your sea.”
In the misty tiled room, I felt an absolute sense of security. Perhaps, that was why it was easy for me to fabricate, and dramatically verbalize adventurous oceanic tales of me being a bold and beautiful heroine.
While I languished in my fantasy world, I occasionally noticed my mother’s activity of performing her evening grooming ritual. Having showered prior to my bath she would have her tall willowy body donned in a vividly colored satin gown. Every now and then, she pulled her graceful long fingernails through her damp hair to hasten its drying process. Fragrant flecks of lavender dusting powder permeated the atmosphere as she patted her arms and legs with a round, rather large, puffed applicator.
Having stepped a few feet away from the tub she positioned herself in front of the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet. From a purple velvet bag, she proceeded to take out a collection of cosmetics. Carefully she placed these jars and tubes on the ledge of the bathroom sink.
Angling myself to one side, I could catch a glimpse of her decorating her face with shades and hues of flattering subtleties.
When her locks were completely dry she flipped her head forward, and vigorously brushed the underside of her hair. Once she had returned her head to its normal position, she shook it a few times. Then in her delicate hands, she cupped and squeezed the ends of her curls. After smiling in the mirror at the results of her efforts, she would signal me to make my exit from the tub.
Through the folds of a soft towel like silk ribbons, her hugs enveloped me. Making the seriousness of her affection fun, she would tickle my feet causing me to reel with laughter. Being this blissfully nurtured I readily accepted the fact my day was over.
One last curiosity loomed in my mind.
I would ask, “Mommy, where are you going?”
Her reply would always be the same, “To bed Honey. Just like you. It’s dark outside and Daddy’s already snoring.”
“But why did you get all dressed up?” I would persist.
“Because,” my mother would say with a beguiling smile, “you never know who you’ll meet in your dreams.”
The Bath
by E.B. Sullivan
Crimson rays from the setting sun filtered through the small window above our cast iron bathtub. Like a prism, the beveled glass created a pattern of iridescent light reflecting on the clear steamy water.
With ease my mother regulated the cross handled knobs of a faucet until they emitted a continuous flow of cascading tepid liquid.
Draped in fluffy terrycloth I timidly dangled my bare right foot over the foggy vapor. Slowly I submerged my wiggling toes into its depths. Instantly a tingly pulsation rushed through my leg. This sensation lured me to toss off my scanty covering and enter the inviting warm pool.
From a dark green curvy bottle, my mother poured out a thick stream of magical fluid. Upon contact with the bathwater, it ignited into white foamy mounds.
With gleeful delight, I allowed the newly formed bubbles to engulf my entire five-year old bony frame.
After propelling myself to a specific location, I rested my tummy flatly on the tub’s hard surface. Entwining my narrow ankles, I rhythmically folded and unfolded my spindly legs. As I moved my lower extremities, displaced water, first splashed high above me then showered down drenching my head of long black curls.
Engaging me in a game of make believe my mother in her gentle voice would say, “Lovely, pearly mermaid it’s so nice to see you again. Please, tell me about the fish who live in your sea.”
In the misty tiled room, I felt an absolute sense of security. Perhaps, that was why it was easy for me to fabricate, and dramatically verbalize adventurous oceanic tales of me being a bold and beautiful heroine.
While I languished in my fantasy world, I occasionally noticed my mother’s activity of performing her evening grooming ritual. Having showered prior to my bath she would have her tall willowy body donned in a vividly colored satin gown. Every now and then, she pulled her graceful long fingernails through her damp hair to hasten its drying process. Fragrant flecks of lavender dusting powder permeated the atmosphere as she patted her arms and legs with a round, rather large, puffed applicator.
Having stepped a few feet away from the tub she positioned herself in front of the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet. From a purple velvet bag, she proceeded to take out a collection of cosmetics. Carefully she placed these jars and tubes on the ledge of the bathroom sink.
Angling myself to one side, I could catch a glimpse of her decorating her face with shades and hues of flattering subtleties.
When her locks were completely dry she flipped her head forward, and vigorously brushed the underside of her hair. Once she had returned her head to its normal position, she shook it a few times. Then in her delicate hands, she cupped and squeezed the ends of her curls. After smiling in the mirror at the results of her efforts, she would signal me to make my exit from the tub.
Through the folds of a soft towel like silk ribbons, her hugs enveloped me. Making the seriousness of her affection fun, she would tickle my feet causing me to reel with laughter. Being this blissfully nurtured I readily accepted the fact my day was over.
One last curiosity loomed in my mind.
I would ask, “Mommy, where are you going?”
Her reply would always be the same, “To bed Honey. Just like you. It’s dark outside and Daddy’s already snoring.”
“But why did you get all dressed up?” I would persist.
“Because,” my mother would say with a beguiling smile, “you never know who you’ll meet in your dreams.”
ELEVATOR FLIGHT
At exactly 9:21 a.m. dressed in a classic blue pinstriped suit Dr. Edwin Townsend stepped into an elevator. His dark bowtie tightly gripped the collar of his
white buttoned down shirt. A copper ring looped over the fourth finger of his left hand. Twisted links hung down from the circle. A lightweight bamboo
birdcage dangled from the chain.
Through horn-rimed reading glasses his eyes focused on the first of several three by five index cards he securely held in his right hand. With excited anticipation,
Edwin silently rehearsed the lecture he planned to present to the International Symposium on Exotic Birds.
Totally absorbed in his speech he failed to notice her manicured nails as they stretched open the closing elevator door.
Once having pressed the number seventeen on the control panel her husky voice softy purred, “Oh, how adorable.”
Her words barely registered with the professor, but the bird as if flattered stepped off its perch and attempted to press its beak between the slats.
She reached toward the bird intending to pet it when her loosely hanging charm bracelet caught on the latch of the cage. In a flash, the small door swung open.
Just as quickly, the winged miniature exited its prison and soared in front of her. It rapidly ascended to the shinny chrome ceiling of the fourteen-foot high
elevator.
“OOPS,” she gasped.
Breaking out into a cold sweat the professor bellowed, “Oh, no!” He jumped in the air making feeble attempts to catch his precious escapee.
Within seconds, pandemonium broke out in the small confined space. Index cards randomly covered the carpeted surface, scattered birdseed strewn everywhere, and Edwin’s glasses wedged themselves crookedly in a slat of the upturned birdcage.
Following his lead, she too flung her slender arms towards the ceiling. Like a crazed ballerina, she danced to the frantic silent melody of the professor’s tension.
With each animated step her ample breasts jiggled, her supple cheeks brightly poked their roundness from underneath her denim short shorts.
As if enjoying the impassioned pursuit the bird flew wildly up and down and all around the moving room. Intermittently it cooed a mocking tune.
Placing her delicate hands on her shapely hips, she stopped moving. “Hold it,” she said with authority. “Quit stressing.” She offered a smile, “I’ll get the little
darling back in its cage for you.”
Ignoring her comments, Edwin continued his kinetic antics. In an unconvincing tone, he attempted to coax his prize into its cage, “Fly home now. Fly home,” he chanted.
Scanning the floor indicator panel, she noticed the red, number fifteen. While bracing herself she turned the emergency key causing the elevator to come to a jolting halt.
Caught off guard the professor’s body suddenly slammed onto the floor. Accusingly he lit into her, “What did you do
now?”
“What did I do? Thanks to you all three of us are trapped in this hi-tech cage.”
Changing her tone she advised, “I think it’s time for you to stay still and do nothing.”
Stunned by her attitude he turned his eyes towards her. For the first time he took in her beautiful image. Astounded by the sculptured features of her perfectly
symmetrical face he lingered his stare at her almond shaped brown eyes.
Returning his gaze, she explained, “I’ve got a plan. You see years ago when I was a teen-ager I had a boyfriend named Joe. He had a darling parakeet called Plum.
Whenever the bird was free, only one thing got it back in its cage.” She giggled. “Joe and I would mimic making out. Shortly, thereafter Plum would fly back into its gilded home. Perhaps, Plum got bored watching us, or maybe he was just plain embarrassed by our behavior.”
She paused, but when she received no response from the professor she continued, “Don’t you get it? All we have to do is pretend to be getting it on. In no time
at all the dear little bird will fly back into its cage.”
“If this is your idea of a joke notice I’m not laughing.”
“What’s funny is watching you thrash about. However, I don’t have time for your method. I have an appointment to keep. Come on take a chance even if it’s for the first time in your life.”
“I’ll have you know I captured this rare specimen of an endangered species in the Amazon Jungle. Furthermore, I persisted and prevailed under perilous conditions of which few individuals would endure. In fact, I’m here today to present a paper on my heroics to my colleagues.”
With one long stride, she moved towards him. Her cascading ebony curls flanked her shoulders as she pushed his sandy head of disheveled hair down. She peered over him. “Dr. Birdbrain you had your turn. Now, let me have mine. You may fancy yourself to be some kind of an expert, but now you’ll see what a true professional can do.”
Looking up at her his maleness could not help but respond to her perky breasts as they protruded through a thin abbreviated tank top. Trying to view her in a more clinical light, he impolitely inquired, “Are you really a professional?”
“Guess I’m more of a semi-pro. If I ever get out of here, I’ll audition for a bit part in a local amateur production. I’m dressed for the scene and all morning I’ve
been trying to keep in character.”
Softening she added, “With the completion of my doctoral dissertation in botany I’ve been having fun indulging in some of my other interests.”
She whispered, “Lover boy, why am I wasting time telling you this?” She moved closer to him and began to moan, “Baby, baby, I want you. Face it, honey, you want me too.”
Edwin’s hormones were loudly screaming. His logical side shouted for him to resist, but in the end, the intense chemistry between them won out.
With genuine tenderness, he gently embraced her. Then he passionately kissed her sensuous lips.
As if on cue, the little bird singing a sweet song flew down from the high ceiling and entered its toppled cage.
Instantaneously, the nameless woman popped up and latched the small cage door. Whirling around, she turned the emergency key to the unlocked position. Within seconds, the elevator lifted them to the seventeenth floor where she hurriedly crossed its threshold.
At exactly 9:58 a.m., Dr. Edwin Townsend smiled confidently as he shouted to her, “Just remember, this is one bird doctor who is willing to go to the ends of the
earth to pursue and capture a rare "chick", especially the magnificent one I kissed today.”
The End
Choices
A deluge pounded the windshield. Without much success, frantic wiper blades attempted to clear the tinted glass. Through the winding roads, I
reduced my speed. However, slowing down had less to do with safety than the fact I dreaded arriving at my planned destination.
The man who recently moved next door called me a few hours earlier. Coughing jags, sniffling, and sneezes interrupted his hoarse raspy voice. He finally asked, “Do you have any plans for today?”
“No I don‘t. You sound awful. Do you need help?”
“Kind of, I know it’s a lot to ask,” He hesitated, “but could you possibly spend a few minutes with my mother?” He cleared his throat before adding, “She‘s in a
nursing home.”
I must have been silent for too long, because he said, “Sorry I bothered you. Since these might be her last days I’m sure it’ll be okay if I expose her to my
cold.”
“No you stay home and recover. I’d be glad to call on her.”
I realized my visit to his mother Virginia, would be meaningless. None of my words could relieve her deep emotional fears. Yet I knew my neighbor needed to
regain his strength in order to be with her at the end.
Suddenly the road leveled off onto a plateau. From out of the gray mist, I spied a formidable austere façade. Its looming presence caused me to shutter.
With one turn of the wheel, I pulled into an almost empty parking lot. Took a few deep breaths, and grabbed an umbrella with one hand and a gaily-wrapped bouquet of flowers with the other. When I opened the car door, a rapid succession of cold gusts assaulted me. With the wind in my face, I tossed the umbrella back in the car and slammed the door shut.
I walked the short distance to the front portico. Rivulets of water dripped from my clothes onto the covered ground. I pulled open a heavy glass door to enter
the building. Once inside despite the oppressive heat a shiver traveled through my damp body. From the overpowering antiseptic smell a wave of nausea added to my discomfort.
As I proceeded down the long corridor, I tried to avert my eyes from the staggering casualties lining the halls and filling the rooms. Some people slumped over
their wheelchairs; others seemed too frail to be shuffling down the corridor. Many drooled, a few chatted into space. Some looked abandoned, forlorn, and distant. I sensed most felt lost in worlds of their own.
A feeling of helplessness washed over me. With quicken steps I pressed on.
At last, I came to Virginia’s room. With a gentle tap, I knocked on her door, but didn’t receive a response. On tiptoes, I entered the nondescript room. Her body
faced away from me. Covered in a plain white sheet, in proportion to her size, the bed seemed huge.
I whispered, “Virginia.”
She spun around.
I handed her the bouquet of wilting flowers.
“Wow look at those beauties, “she exclaimed, “Did you just pick them? They‘re still covered with dew.”
Her cheerful words surprised me.
Virginia tore away the colored cellophane.
I collected it, threw it in a tiny basket, and watched as she turned the bouquet upside down. With great care, she fumbled with the tied stems until they slipped up through the handle of her nightstand drawer. Her knurly hands fidgeted with the string making sure the flowers hung securely.
She told me, “I like my flowers to dry. This way they never die.”
“What a lovely thought.”
Her arms beckoned me to come closer. “Look out the window.”
I walked to the other side of her bed.
She pointed.
Following her skeletal finger, I peered through the unadorned glass searching for something special. My vision only took in a patch of muddy ground in front of a
concrete wall.
“Don’t you see the puddle?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?”
Perplexed I faced her.
Undaunted by my puzzled expression she continued talking. “For hours I’ve been watching the pool grow larger and larger. All the while, I’ve been imagining the rain stopping. Then oh how much fun it’ll be for birds to splash and frolic in this lovely new pond.”
Closing her eyes she elaborated, “I can almost hear the divine creatures serenading me with their angelic voices as they flit about in this marvelous spot.”
Virginia reached for my hand. Once she grasped it, she squeezed it, and sighed. “Isn’t this truly a joyous experience?”
With genuine gusto, I replied, “Indeed it is.”
The End
At exactly 9:21 a.m. dressed in a classic blue pinstriped suit Dr. Edwin Townsend stepped into an elevator. His dark bowtie tightly gripped the collar of his
white buttoned down shirt. A copper ring looped over the fourth finger of his left hand. Twisted links hung down from the circle. A lightweight bamboo
birdcage dangled from the chain.
Through horn-rimed reading glasses his eyes focused on the first of several three by five index cards he securely held in his right hand. With excited anticipation,
Edwin silently rehearsed the lecture he planned to present to the International Symposium on Exotic Birds.
Totally absorbed in his speech he failed to notice her manicured nails as they stretched open the closing elevator door.
Once having pressed the number seventeen on the control panel her husky voice softy purred, “Oh, how adorable.”
Her words barely registered with the professor, but the bird as if flattered stepped off its perch and attempted to press its beak between the slats.
She reached toward the bird intending to pet it when her loosely hanging charm bracelet caught on the latch of the cage. In a flash, the small door swung open.
Just as quickly, the winged miniature exited its prison and soared in front of her. It rapidly ascended to the shinny chrome ceiling of the fourteen-foot high
elevator.
“OOPS,” she gasped.
Breaking out into a cold sweat the professor bellowed, “Oh, no!” He jumped in the air making feeble attempts to catch his precious escapee.
Within seconds, pandemonium broke out in the small confined space. Index cards randomly covered the carpeted surface, scattered birdseed strewn everywhere, and Edwin’s glasses wedged themselves crookedly in a slat of the upturned birdcage.
Following his lead, she too flung her slender arms towards the ceiling. Like a crazed ballerina, she danced to the frantic silent melody of the professor’s tension.
With each animated step her ample breasts jiggled, her supple cheeks brightly poked their roundness from underneath her denim short shorts.
As if enjoying the impassioned pursuit the bird flew wildly up and down and all around the moving room. Intermittently it cooed a mocking tune.
Placing her delicate hands on her shapely hips, she stopped moving. “Hold it,” she said with authority. “Quit stressing.” She offered a smile, “I’ll get the little
darling back in its cage for you.”
Ignoring her comments, Edwin continued his kinetic antics. In an unconvincing tone, he attempted to coax his prize into its cage, “Fly home now. Fly home,” he chanted.
Scanning the floor indicator panel, she noticed the red, number fifteen. While bracing herself she turned the emergency key causing the elevator to come to a jolting halt.
Caught off guard the professor’s body suddenly slammed onto the floor. Accusingly he lit into her, “What did you do
now?”
“What did I do? Thanks to you all three of us are trapped in this hi-tech cage.”
Changing her tone she advised, “I think it’s time for you to stay still and do nothing.”
Stunned by her attitude he turned his eyes towards her. For the first time he took in her beautiful image. Astounded by the sculptured features of her perfectly
symmetrical face he lingered his stare at her almond shaped brown eyes.
Returning his gaze, she explained, “I’ve got a plan. You see years ago when I was a teen-ager I had a boyfriend named Joe. He had a darling parakeet called Plum.
Whenever the bird was free, only one thing got it back in its cage.” She giggled. “Joe and I would mimic making out. Shortly, thereafter Plum would fly back into its gilded home. Perhaps, Plum got bored watching us, or maybe he was just plain embarrassed by our behavior.”
She paused, but when she received no response from the professor she continued, “Don’t you get it? All we have to do is pretend to be getting it on. In no time
at all the dear little bird will fly back into its cage.”
“If this is your idea of a joke notice I’m not laughing.”
“What’s funny is watching you thrash about. However, I don’t have time for your method. I have an appointment to keep. Come on take a chance even if it’s for the first time in your life.”
“I’ll have you know I captured this rare specimen of an endangered species in the Amazon Jungle. Furthermore, I persisted and prevailed under perilous conditions of which few individuals would endure. In fact, I’m here today to present a paper on my heroics to my colleagues.”
With one long stride, she moved towards him. Her cascading ebony curls flanked her shoulders as she pushed his sandy head of disheveled hair down. She peered over him. “Dr. Birdbrain you had your turn. Now, let me have mine. You may fancy yourself to be some kind of an expert, but now you’ll see what a true professional can do.”
Looking up at her his maleness could not help but respond to her perky breasts as they protruded through a thin abbreviated tank top. Trying to view her in a more clinical light, he impolitely inquired, “Are you really a professional?”
“Guess I’m more of a semi-pro. If I ever get out of here, I’ll audition for a bit part in a local amateur production. I’m dressed for the scene and all morning I’ve
been trying to keep in character.”
Softening she added, “With the completion of my doctoral dissertation in botany I’ve been having fun indulging in some of my other interests.”
She whispered, “Lover boy, why am I wasting time telling you this?” She moved closer to him and began to moan, “Baby, baby, I want you. Face it, honey, you want me too.”
Edwin’s hormones were loudly screaming. His logical side shouted for him to resist, but in the end, the intense chemistry between them won out.
With genuine tenderness, he gently embraced her. Then he passionately kissed her sensuous lips.
As if on cue, the little bird singing a sweet song flew down from the high ceiling and entered its toppled cage.
Instantaneously, the nameless woman popped up and latched the small cage door. Whirling around, she turned the emergency key to the unlocked position. Within seconds, the elevator lifted them to the seventeenth floor where she hurriedly crossed its threshold.
At exactly 9:58 a.m., Dr. Edwin Townsend smiled confidently as he shouted to her, “Just remember, this is one bird doctor who is willing to go to the ends of the
earth to pursue and capture a rare "chick", especially the magnificent one I kissed today.”
The End
Choices
A deluge pounded the windshield. Without much success, frantic wiper blades attempted to clear the tinted glass. Through the winding roads, I
reduced my speed. However, slowing down had less to do with safety than the fact I dreaded arriving at my planned destination.
The man who recently moved next door called me a few hours earlier. Coughing jags, sniffling, and sneezes interrupted his hoarse raspy voice. He finally asked, “Do you have any plans for today?”
“No I don‘t. You sound awful. Do you need help?”
“Kind of, I know it’s a lot to ask,” He hesitated, “but could you possibly spend a few minutes with my mother?” He cleared his throat before adding, “She‘s in a
nursing home.”
I must have been silent for too long, because he said, “Sorry I bothered you. Since these might be her last days I’m sure it’ll be okay if I expose her to my
cold.”
“No you stay home and recover. I’d be glad to call on her.”
I realized my visit to his mother Virginia, would be meaningless. None of my words could relieve her deep emotional fears. Yet I knew my neighbor needed to
regain his strength in order to be with her at the end.
Suddenly the road leveled off onto a plateau. From out of the gray mist, I spied a formidable austere façade. Its looming presence caused me to shutter.
With one turn of the wheel, I pulled into an almost empty parking lot. Took a few deep breaths, and grabbed an umbrella with one hand and a gaily-wrapped bouquet of flowers with the other. When I opened the car door, a rapid succession of cold gusts assaulted me. With the wind in my face, I tossed the umbrella back in the car and slammed the door shut.
I walked the short distance to the front portico. Rivulets of water dripped from my clothes onto the covered ground. I pulled open a heavy glass door to enter
the building. Once inside despite the oppressive heat a shiver traveled through my damp body. From the overpowering antiseptic smell a wave of nausea added to my discomfort.
As I proceeded down the long corridor, I tried to avert my eyes from the staggering casualties lining the halls and filling the rooms. Some people slumped over
their wheelchairs; others seemed too frail to be shuffling down the corridor. Many drooled, a few chatted into space. Some looked abandoned, forlorn, and distant. I sensed most felt lost in worlds of their own.
A feeling of helplessness washed over me. With quicken steps I pressed on.
At last, I came to Virginia’s room. With a gentle tap, I knocked on her door, but didn’t receive a response. On tiptoes, I entered the nondescript room. Her body
faced away from me. Covered in a plain white sheet, in proportion to her size, the bed seemed huge.
I whispered, “Virginia.”
She spun around.
I handed her the bouquet of wilting flowers.
“Wow look at those beauties, “she exclaimed, “Did you just pick them? They‘re still covered with dew.”
Her cheerful words surprised me.
Virginia tore away the colored cellophane.
I collected it, threw it in a tiny basket, and watched as she turned the bouquet upside down. With great care, she fumbled with the tied stems until they slipped up through the handle of her nightstand drawer. Her knurly hands fidgeted with the string making sure the flowers hung securely.
She told me, “I like my flowers to dry. This way they never die.”
“What a lovely thought.”
Her arms beckoned me to come closer. “Look out the window.”
I walked to the other side of her bed.
She pointed.
Following her skeletal finger, I peered through the unadorned glass searching for something special. My vision only took in a patch of muddy ground in front of a
concrete wall.
“Don’t you see the puddle?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?”
Perplexed I faced her.
Undaunted by my puzzled expression she continued talking. “For hours I’ve been watching the pool grow larger and larger. All the while, I’ve been imagining the rain stopping. Then oh how much fun it’ll be for birds to splash and frolic in this lovely new pond.”
Closing her eyes she elaborated, “I can almost hear the divine creatures serenading me with their angelic voices as they flit about in this marvelous spot.”
Virginia reached for my hand. Once she grasped it, she squeezed it, and sighed. “Isn’t this truly a joyous experience?”
With genuine gusto, I replied, “Indeed it is.”
The End
Anniversary
A blaring alarm woke me from a deep sleep. My head felt groggy. Could it be 6:45 already? I dashed to the kitchen put the coffee on, slipped in and out of
the shower, quickly dressed, and roused Kyle and the children. I returned to the kitchen to prepare breakfast: cereal for the girls, toasted bagels for Kyle, sliced bananas and strawberries to share.
Wearing overalls, Kyle came into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and placed it on the counter. He reached over my shoulder, gave me a peck on my cheek, grabbed a bagel, and slathered it with cream cheese. “I’ll try to be home early. What’s for dinner?”
“Meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy.”
“Sounds good.”
I opened the refrigerator. Fortunately, I had made sandwiches the night before. Along with two lunch boxes, I attempted to grab a quart of milk. The carton slipped from my fingers fell to the floor spilling white liquid in all directions.
“Oh no,” I screamed. “My shoes are a mess.”
“You go change. I’ll clean up.” Kyle offered.
I raced upstairs.
My youngest, Ava, asked, “Mom can you button my shirt?”
“I can’t wear these pants.” Her older sister Zoe complained. “They’re an ugly color.”
Each night, we spent time together picking out their clothes. Yet, most mornings one or both girls wanted to wear something different.
I heard Kyle yell from downstairs, “Honey I’m leaving,”
“Wait I’ll be right there to kiss you goodbye.”
Ava tapped me with a brush. “Mommy, first fix my hair.”
The front door slammed. He probably didn’t hear me.
I glanced at my watch and knew it was the start of a frustrating day.
Traffic was heavier than usual.
As I pulled up to the girls’ school, the bell rang.
Zoe reminded me, “Mommy, you have to go to the office to get late passes.”
At work, two checkers were out with the flu. Lines of customers were nonstop. I skipped lunch and couldn’t leave until my relief arrived.
Ava and Zoe were the last children at the childcare center. The director chided me, “Mrs. Millard it’s important you arrive on time.”
Back home I told the girls, “You two start your homework while I make dinner.” I mixed ground meat with spices, ketchup, and breadcrumbs. Formed a loaf, and
put it in the oven. I peeled and chopped four potatoes. Placed them in a pot of water on the stove and turned the gas on high.
The phone rang.
It was Kyle. “I have to stay late to finish a job.”
“That’s okay. I understand. See you in a few hours.”
Only after I had tucked the girls in bed did I realize it was my fourteenth wedding anniversary. I shrugged my shoulders and whispered, “No big deal, it’s simply
another day. Besides, Kyle always forgets our anniversary.”
I was emptying the dryer when I heard Kyle opening the front door.
I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck.
He lowered his head. His lips met mine in a luscious kiss. I wished he’d never stop kissing me, but he did.
“Sorry I’m late. A customer needed his truck’s radiator replaced ASAP.”
I nodded.
“I have a surprise for you?”
Thinking he remembered, I said, “Happy Anniversary.”
He stepped back, reached for my hands, and gave me a sheepish look. “Oops. I forgot all about it.”
I laughed. “To be truthful I only thought about it an hour ago.”
He squeezed my fingertips. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better. No wonder I love you.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a check, and handed it to me. “I got paid double time to repair the delivery truck.”
“Nice going.”
“Whenever your parents can stay with the girls let’s steal away for a weekend. Maybe we can rent a cabin by the lake. Can we celebrate then?”
I stared into his eyes. Memories paraded in my mind. The day he asked me out--fulfilling my secret wish. Our first date—watching Kyle, a bundle of nerves, speak to my dad. Our wedding--walking toward the most handsome man I’d ever seen. The night Zoe was born--trying to calm Kyle. The morning we brought Ava
home--seeing him hold her tenderly in his arms. Hours with him listening to my feelings, thoughts, and ideas. Sharing ordinary times like breakfasts, lunches,
and dinners, cleaning the yard, visiting relatives, going for drives, cuddling in his warm embrace, and watching television.
Tears slipped down my cheeks. Our relationship, with too many special moments to count, was wonderful. I felt blessed to be Mrs. Kyle Millard.
My lips lingered near his. “Since I met you, everyday has been a celebration. Thanks to you our time together is a continuous anniversary of love.”
A blaring alarm woke me from a deep sleep. My head felt groggy. Could it be 6:45 already? I dashed to the kitchen put the coffee on, slipped in and out of
the shower, quickly dressed, and roused Kyle and the children. I returned to the kitchen to prepare breakfast: cereal for the girls, toasted bagels for Kyle, sliced bananas and strawberries to share.
Wearing overalls, Kyle came into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and placed it on the counter. He reached over my shoulder, gave me a peck on my cheek, grabbed a bagel, and slathered it with cream cheese. “I’ll try to be home early. What’s for dinner?”
“Meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy.”
“Sounds good.”
I opened the refrigerator. Fortunately, I had made sandwiches the night before. Along with two lunch boxes, I attempted to grab a quart of milk. The carton slipped from my fingers fell to the floor spilling white liquid in all directions.
“Oh no,” I screamed. “My shoes are a mess.”
“You go change. I’ll clean up.” Kyle offered.
I raced upstairs.
My youngest, Ava, asked, “Mom can you button my shirt?”
“I can’t wear these pants.” Her older sister Zoe complained. “They’re an ugly color.”
Each night, we spent time together picking out their clothes. Yet, most mornings one or both girls wanted to wear something different.
I heard Kyle yell from downstairs, “Honey I’m leaving,”
“Wait I’ll be right there to kiss you goodbye.”
Ava tapped me with a brush. “Mommy, first fix my hair.”
The front door slammed. He probably didn’t hear me.
I glanced at my watch and knew it was the start of a frustrating day.
Traffic was heavier than usual.
As I pulled up to the girls’ school, the bell rang.
Zoe reminded me, “Mommy, you have to go to the office to get late passes.”
At work, two checkers were out with the flu. Lines of customers were nonstop. I skipped lunch and couldn’t leave until my relief arrived.
Ava and Zoe were the last children at the childcare center. The director chided me, “Mrs. Millard it’s important you arrive on time.”
Back home I told the girls, “You two start your homework while I make dinner.” I mixed ground meat with spices, ketchup, and breadcrumbs. Formed a loaf, and
put it in the oven. I peeled and chopped four potatoes. Placed them in a pot of water on the stove and turned the gas on high.
The phone rang.
It was Kyle. “I have to stay late to finish a job.”
“That’s okay. I understand. See you in a few hours.”
Only after I had tucked the girls in bed did I realize it was my fourteenth wedding anniversary. I shrugged my shoulders and whispered, “No big deal, it’s simply
another day. Besides, Kyle always forgets our anniversary.”
I was emptying the dryer when I heard Kyle opening the front door.
I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck.
He lowered his head. His lips met mine in a luscious kiss. I wished he’d never stop kissing me, but he did.
“Sorry I’m late. A customer needed his truck’s radiator replaced ASAP.”
I nodded.
“I have a surprise for you?”
Thinking he remembered, I said, “Happy Anniversary.”
He stepped back, reached for my hands, and gave me a sheepish look. “Oops. I forgot all about it.”
I laughed. “To be truthful I only thought about it an hour ago.”
He squeezed my fingertips. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better. No wonder I love you.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a check, and handed it to me. “I got paid double time to repair the delivery truck.”
“Nice going.”
“Whenever your parents can stay with the girls let’s steal away for a weekend. Maybe we can rent a cabin by the lake. Can we celebrate then?”
I stared into his eyes. Memories paraded in my mind. The day he asked me out--fulfilling my secret wish. Our first date—watching Kyle, a bundle of nerves, speak to my dad. Our wedding--walking toward the most handsome man I’d ever seen. The night Zoe was born--trying to calm Kyle. The morning we brought Ava
home--seeing him hold her tenderly in his arms. Hours with him listening to my feelings, thoughts, and ideas. Sharing ordinary times like breakfasts, lunches,
and dinners, cleaning the yard, visiting relatives, going for drives, cuddling in his warm embrace, and watching television.
Tears slipped down my cheeks. Our relationship, with too many special moments to count, was wonderful. I felt blessed to be Mrs. Kyle Millard.
My lips lingered near his. “Since I met you, everyday has been a celebration. Thanks to you our time together is a continuous anniversary of love.”
