The Standard

It’s sad when we choose to characterize people on how we choose to see them and not how they really are.  The easiest thing in the world to do is also the most harmful to our relationships; judging. 

    People are different.  We see and react to things differently.  Since this is the case, why do we then seem to put everyone in the same category, ignoring that fact?  On top of that, if they don’t fit in that category then they must be “odd”, “strange” and “different”.  So in a world where no one is the same, where do we get off pointing out certain things about people and calling them out as different?  While they are different, how are they more different than anyone else?  We all say hello differently, laugh uniquely, have a smile that is all our own, yet in some people we choose to point out their uniqueness as something to be frowned upon.  Where did this standard come from in which we all seem to hold “other people” to?

    The thought is saddening but at the same time strikes in me a conviction for I myself suffer from the same ill thinking.  How often do I treat someone differently because they do not fit in the same “box” I alone find acceptable?  What is to be gained from this except that it lessens the work of having to be considerate?  If I decide a person, based on their actions or just plain existence, is not in tune with my way of thinking, how easy is it for me to write them off as being “different” and unworthy of the effort of understanding?  I shut them off from my world and I from theirs and in that I close my mind from learning something new.  The danger lies in more than mistreating someone, but also in limiting ourselves.  With each person holding certain ideas, goals, views, and unique walks in life, to deny even the opportunity of experiencing life in their eyes by simply talking with them, is to cheat oneself out of the chance to grow.

How can we justify judging those we deem different?  Even those who can effectively pull off an air of “normalcy” suffer for their actions.  It takes so much more work to hide those differences in ourselves than it would just to walk proudly and accept that we are not just like everyone else.

    The only being with the right to judge anyone created us just the way we are.  Does it make any sense for Him to condemn us for being exactly how He made us?  What makes even less sense is for anyone to think he or she alone holds the standard for which all others must be measured up to.  How can a toy with equal standing with all the other toys in the toy box possibly contain the one element out of all of them that makes it the one they must all look to?  Would it not make better sense for the Creator of the toy to be that standard?

    The judgment we inflict on each other for the mere act of not being the way we would so desire the other to be seems about as ridiculous as one fussing at the color blue for not being the color green.  I hope that I can learn to stifle my own ill thoughts when it comes to the placement of people in my mind.  Just because the color blue is not the color green, it does not make it any less of a color, just one that is its own.

A Page

Mind is blank

Claw the air

Gasp for depth

Nothing’s there

Feel the void

See the white

Stretch for words

Out of sight

Close the eyes

Stop the heart

There it is

Now to start

Smile intact

Looking down

What once was lost

My page has found

Halloween 2012

I’ve had cause to wonder this year why it is that Halloween means so much to me.  After being asked many times, I decided that I needed an answer.  I never had given the reason behind it much thought.  Things that happen gradually tend to leave a strong mark but a silent trail that is difficult to back track.  This morning I woke up with the tracks fresh in my mind. 

            I suppose it would have to begin when I was too young to even dress myself.  My parents, who were always taking pictures, have efficiently recorded every Halloween costume through film.  Vivid memories still visit me of trick or treating in my grandparent’s neighborhood dressed as a Disney princess or even a Ninja Turtle.  One house will always stand out due to the fact that it served king sized candy bars on a silver platter.  That was every kid’s dream.  One year my mom made mine and my sister’s costumes.  She was Catwoman and I, Batgirl.  They were simple, but we wore them with pride because our mom took time to create them for us.  Probably the most memorable Halloween of my childhood was the one where my little brother was due to be born.  My mom, on her fourth child, was more than ready for him to come.  That night we walked an uncharacteristically long time trying to encourage Ethan grace us with his presence.  My mom wanted him to be born on Halloween so she could call him her little goblin.  Sadly, he chose to come two days later instead.

            Many Halloweens involved our close friends, the Wardens.  I remember when I was twelve years old I began to feel like I was out growing Halloween.  Maybe it was just a day for little kids.  I emailed my Aunt Shelley, sharing my worries with her.  Her reply was one that etched its way into my brain.  She told me a story of how on Halloween, when she was twenty, she invited some of her closest friends over for dinner.  At each place mat on the table there was a spooky mask and a bag for candy.  They ate dinner and then went out trick or treating.  She said it was a wonderful night filled with good fun that she would never forget.  She said they didn’t feel silly, and actually the people passing out candy thought it was great.  Her words to me were that I would only be too old for Halloween when I decided I was.  I didn’t have to let it be just for little kids, I could enjoy it as an adult too.  Those words meant a lot.  Coincidently, the last time I went trick or treating was just before my twentieth birthday.  I went with my siblings and a close friend.  We all dressed up and had a great time.  It was a memorable night.

            There are other factors, too, that contribute to this attraction for Halloween.  My youth group growing up had its part.  Our youth minister, Mark, recognized the holiday as day for grown-ups to have fun as well.  He shared the spirit of Halloween throughout the year with his famous “Stupid Scary Movie Nights”.  The youth group would gather at his house, after earning entrance inside by performing silly acts, and watch a black and white classic scary movie.  The Ghost and Mr. Chicken being a favorite.  This was yet another point where I realized that adults can enjoy Halloween as well. 

            The TV show Home Improvement also left its mark.  Every season would have a Halloween episode where the family would throw a party and even play pranks on each other.  My family loved this show and always looked forward to those episodes.  This was probably a strong inspiration for the first Halloween party my family threw back in 2008.  Money was tight and we couldn’t go Halloween Horror Nights like we had for the past few years.  It was actually my parents’ idea for us to throw a party.  My siblings and I had meetings in the summer to plan.  Our collective excitement bubbled over and into our friends who came and helped by bringing food.  It was such a success that we had two more the consecutive years, each year growing by 20 attendees.  Our excitement for Halloween was rising and spreading and inspiring others to see that it was not just a holiday for children, but for anyone who wasn’t too grown up to have fun. 

            So if someone were to ask me again why I enjoy Halloween as much as I do, I would have to attribute it to several unique people, special memories, and solid encouragement.  An idea is a powerful seed and when watered often can grow and spread.  There are many things that inspire us and fasten into our lives to help shape us.  I wouldn’t say that Halloween is necessarily what shaped me, but the idea that good fun is not exclusive to children but universal for everyone.  To this day, seeing my parents dress up in costumes, decorate the yard and display pure giddiness about bringing wonder to kids’ faces, that’s what makes me smile. 

            You decide when you’re too old for Halloween.  As for me, I don’t plan on ever getting old.  

Time

Time

That’s a very complex word

We have to take it seriously

We have to make it last

We have to make it count

We have to treat it like we will never have it again

Because we won’t

We have to have fun with it

We have to love it

We have to take care of our share

We have to treat it with respect

We have to share it

We have to spend it with others

We have to take it

Because it’s ours

It’s our gift from God

So shouldn’t we give him some of it?

Untitled from 2006

It began with a new day, or at least what I thought was a new day.  How was I to know that this particular day would harbor the familiarity of one of my most terrifying nightmares? 

            I awoke to a scream as always.  Anything other than that would have alarmed me.  I rolled out of bed and stood firmly on the hard wooden floor.  I felt the uneven planks beneath my feet and it comforted me, preparing me for the day ahead.  I dressed quickly, knowing breakfast would be served soon.  Every meal was something of a competition; first come, first serve.  I was never the last to a meal.  Our house was very spacious.  The living and dining rooms were the largest while our bedrooms were almost too small, but then, we were never in them for very long.  I sat down at the long table, smiling, as I was the first to arrive.  The others would come soon, so I folded my hands and waited.  The ceiling was high but I could see every detail in it’s workings.  A fly, oddly enough, was buzzing along the top, desperately in search of a way out.  No visitor ever stayed long, even bugs.  Having no watch, I couldn’t very well know how long I had been sitting, waiting for the others, but I knew it had been too long.  I listened, honing in on the sounds around me.  Nothing.  The only thing I could hear was the fly that had finally found a crack in a window.  I stood quickly, still concentrating on my surroundings.  I heard a snap and my head whipped towards the double doors that led into the living room. 

            In a breath I was outside.  The sun had fallen behind the trees and left the sky an eerie glow where it had been.  No one was in sight.  This troubled me.  How often had anyone left just before nightfall?  The rule was to wait until the earth had succumbed to darkness before we headed out.  A sudden thought struck me.  If I was alone, then where had the scream come from that woke me?  Could they have made it, or someone else?

            I darted towards the iron gates that enclosed the grounds, stepping lightly over the overgrown roots that pierced through the dirt.  The gates swung open for me to pass through and closed quietly behind me.  They knew their masters.

            I had to find the others.  My concern was not in that they would be harmed, but that they would be found.  Secrecy had kept us safe for many years.  The wind picked up, whistling past my ears.  My eyes narrowed on the path that led to town.  Surely they would not have taken that route?  I closed my eyes for a brief moment, remembering the stories that accompanied this path.  I was always told to never go alone, even more so, to wait for night to truly fall, when darkness would be our ally.  This was no time to be safe.  If I waited, I might lose all the time it could take to help the others.  With this resolve, I took off down the beaten path.  I stayed close to the trees, using them for cover.  My ears still heard nothing, for my feet made no sound as they raced over the earth.

            Time passed quickly and I found myself in the woods just outside town.  Something was different.   The moon had risen and cast a beam over the townspeople who were in an uproar.  Their cries and shouts were only mirroring the fury in their actions.  Most carried guns, shovels, and pitchforks.  The leaders were holding lanterns high into the air.

            I stayed out of sight, hidden in the dark of the trees, but I could see everything very clearly.  In the town square, where the mass had gathered, were the remnants of clothes I knew only too well, scattered on the ground.  The cloak that had once covered my head from suspicious eyes was now torn.  A cape that had spared me from the rain, covered in mud.  Glasses that had been used to disguise my face, broken.  Many more articles lay tattered in the heap, their owners no where to be seen.

            My only thoughts to explain this were almost too terrible to speak aloud.  Our cover had been revealed, we were no longer safe.  I, at least, could escape.  The others, it seemed, had had another fate in store for them.  The mob would certainly find their way to our home.  They would use the very path I was hiding in.

            A smell wafted into my nose and I knew I had very little time.  The townspeople would not stop.  My eyes quickly scoped my surroundings and found a bunch of bushes that would make for decent escape until the crowd had dispersed.  I wanted to wait and see if there were any details I could obtain while they were passing.  I needed to know how I could find the others or at least how they met their demise.

            I sunk lower in the brush and froze in my position.  They would never find me.  It seemed like hours had passed before the last person had made their way through the woods leaving the town a silent tomb.  When my ears heard no sound I broke free and almost ran to the town square.  I gasped, rather fruitless, but the gesture meant the same.  I was standing in the middle of the heap of clothes, but my attention was focused on the seared mound just ahead of me.  Smoke was still rising with the ash that danced through the air, almost teasing me of my loss.

            I felt a stab of anger but fought to control my screams.  Simple people with simple minds, so afraid of what they don’t understand.  What had we ever done to them to deserve this?  We had always been careful of our tracks.  We never harmed them, the ones that didn’t deserve it.  Our hunger was for the vile ones alone.  For that the townspeople should be thankful for us ridding them of such filth.

            I whipped around, surveying the damage.  But how was this done?  How did they know of our existence?  Even more, how did the others let this happen?  Surely this could have been avoided?

            A branch cracked in the distance.  I vanished from sight.  Once again I must restart my life.  At least, what I called life.  

Unseen Disaster

I wrote this awhile back and never finished.  One day it will be an awesome story!

I thought that when the alarm went off that morning it was merely the start of a new day.  I would wake up to the sound of the morning radio show chatter and dress quickly to the incoherent ramblings of a rap song.  My breakfast would be next, the usual bowl of Rice Crispies which would have to be in my least favorite color dish due to the fact that I had never gotten around to pushing the button on the dishwasher.  The brushing of teeth and applying of makeup would follow immediately.   All this would ultimately end with my arrival in my beetle which would eventually, with several pep talks and often a good beg, take me to work.

            It seemed, though, that this day was different from the very moment I opened my eyes.

            I awoke at the usual time to the same voices I heard every morning.  It took only a few seconds for my mind to register the panic.  Only a second more for me to hear what they said.

            “…was reported east of downtown at 7:15 this morning.  Another sighted only a half hour later.  We don’t have any city officials’ statements just yet, but we hope to-” and the radio went dead.

            Slightly dazed, I reached over and pushed the power button on the remote.  Nothing happened.  I crawled out of bed and, holding my breath, tapped the ON button for the TV.  Silence.  Looking around, I realized the ceiling fan was slowing to a stop.  I stumbled to the window and pulled the curtains.  It was dark outside.  It should have been sunny.  I could not see any streetlights or porch lights.  After closing the blinds rather abruptly, I felt my way through the house, and with a sense of urgency, searched for my phone.

The Cinema

The rush of cold air hit her face and the door swung slowly shut behind.  It was opened twice more in the few short moments it took her to reach the man with the striped, collared shirt. He gave a quick smile as he tore the paper she had gotten for free, handing her a small stub. 

The small children in line behind her were giddy and loud, but it wasn’t a bother.  The parents handed the man their tickets and they rushed off, children in tow, no doubt late for their show.  She, on the other hand, took her time.  She chose the longest of the concessions lines and stood, drinking in her surroundings.  The couple before her stood closely to each other.  Her eyes on him; his eyes on the menu.

“I heard this one is so much better than the first,” the girl said excitedly.

The young man, holding her hand, smiled with his eyes, “Well I hope so, ‘cause the first one sucked.”

The couple grew quiet and her attention was caught by the gentlemen standing to her left in another line.  His phone was in his ear and his voice was loud.  “I know!  It’s amazing!  Have you seen it yet?  The critics have no idea what they’re talking about.  I smell Oscars. . . . I’m in line for more popcorn.  My kids are like ravenous beasts, you have no idea. . . . This is the third time I’ve filled it, too. . . . . Oh, I know, if I hadn’t already seen this movie twice. . . .”  The man stepped forward in line.

She looked down at her feet, seeing the kernel covered floor.  No doubt it had been cleaned that morning but with the flood of people bustling about, one could hardly tell.

The line was getting shorter and she finally made her way to the front counter.  A Coke and small popcorn was all she required. She collected another smile from the lady in stripes and then made her way towards the butter.  A little girl was standing where she needed to be.  Her Dora the Explorer jacket was shining with the substance meant only for popcorn.  Her mother rushed to her side, grabbing frantically at the napkins container and begging her daughter to stop rubbing her fingers on the greasy counter.

A moment later the mother scooped her little one up and hurried away, the little girl’s smile glistening with butter stained cheeks.

The boy beside her drenched his hot dog in ketchup and stalked away satisfied, showing no interest in the napkins he would most likely be missing.  She globbed just the right amount of butter on the popcorn then began on her way, traveling much slower than the general flow of traffic.  A breeze flew past, hauling four preteen boys.  They crossed her path and raced through the double doors to her left, raucous laughter accompanying them.  This was not her stop.

Two little girls were skipping towards her with an arm around the other’s shoulder, singing softly.  They were captured by a set of doors and their giggling faded away.   This wasn’t her stop either.

An older man pushed a grey haired woman in a wheelchair.  Atop the blanket in her lap, she held an icee.  The man leaned over and kissed her whispy hair and the woman smiled and promptly took a sip of her drink.  They disappeared through a pair of large doors to the right, their gate slow and smooth.

She paused, but for just a moment.  She had not yet reached her stop.

The halls had grown quiet but the thunder from behind closed doors betrayed their secret.  A bench caught her eye and she sat down.  The soda took a seat beside her, the popcorn resting in her lap.  She rested her head on the wall behind her and closed her eyes.  Rumbles from the neighboring theater massaged her mind and she felt herself drifting. . .

“She’s back today.”

He smiled, “I know. She came in same time as before.”

“I don’t see the point.  Why does she bother?”

“You really don’t know?”

His coworker shook her head.

He led her over to a quiet corner, away from the bustle of movie goers, but still in sight of the concessions.  “Every week she and her husband would come in and see a movie.  You’d think they would only see quiet dramas, but no.  If it was out, they saw it.  At first I thought this was strange.  Why would a seventy year old couple be interested in a horror movie or kid’s cartoon?  But then, over time, as I watched them, I knew.”

The girl widened her eyes, waiting for the answer.

“It wasn’t the movie that drew them here each week.  It was their love of going to the theater together.  I never heard them complain about a movie, not once.  I only saw smiles.  They loved being with each other, no matter where they were.”

He saw the girl’s eyes glisten for a moment before she sniffed and said, “Then what happened?”  The tone in her voice said she already knew.

“Then one week it was just her.”

She looked down.  “And she still comes every week?”

“Every week, but she doesn’t see the movies now.  She just comes.”

“Because she misses him…”

He nodded.

            The doors opened and a mob of people spilled out, each talking animatedly about the story they had seen on screen.  On their way towards the exits, most didn’t notice the elderly woman asleep on the bench, untouched popcorn in her lap.  The pounding of feet on carpet awakened her and she looked around, a small smile on her lips.  The food in her lap, now cold, she clutched as she stood.  The drink she gathered, untouched and waited for the mass to disperse.  Two theater employees stood across the hall, watching as she hobbled out the exit doors and into the night.  After a moment, they returned to work, knowing they would see her again soon.

the end

December Fool's Day

 I wrote this in 2003 and it won 2nd place in the Times Union Holiday Short Story Contest

December Fool's Day

     Most people do pranks of April Fool's Day and some even on Halloween.  Not many do them at Christmas.  It all began seven years ago when my brother was nine and I was seven.  This prank giving custom originated when my brother wrote a note impersonating Santa and left it by the cookies I had so carefully made the night before.  On Christmas Day I rushed into the living room to see if the milk and cookies were gone.  I found half a cookie and an empty glass.  I was thrilled to see the letter, but when I read it I almost cried.  The letter said: 

     Dear Selena, the cookies were horrible! What were you trying to do, kill me? -Santa Claus

You can imagine my horror.  I had just finished throwing the left over cookie away when my brother, Kenny, started laughing and rolling around on the floor.  I was so mad at him I screamed bloody murder and woke up our parents who were sleeping soundly until that alarm at 7:30 a.m.  Kenny did get in trouble for his horrible prank but I still swore my revenge by saying, "This is war."  My brother began laughing again.  Apparently he didn't expect much from a seven year old.

Christmas came one year later and the prank I had so vigilantly prepared caught Kenny by surprise.  He unwrapped his first gift to find a barbie doll.  He was very confused until I took a picture of him holding the doll with the camera I'd gotten for my birthday.

He chased me around the room until I promised to rip up the picture once it was processed.

     And so the war had begun.  Every year after we would take turns playing pranks on each other.  Our parents were a little unnerved at first but once they realized they couldn't stop us, they simply let us be.  Our pranks have become a tradition and I expect they'll continue until one of us moves out. 

Well, this past year was my year and I had been thinking of the perfect prank ever since the horrible embarrassment I suffered the year before.  I had woken up to my brother looking, white faced, over me.  At first I thought, "Oh, the prank, he's getting really good at it.  But when I saw a tear roll down his eye, I knew he wasn't joking.  I jumped out of bed and Kenny began hurriedly explaining what he'd found in the living room.  He said that the window had been busted out and that someone had stolen our presents.

     "What?"  I had said, halfway through putting on my slippers.  "But we wouldn't heard it."

     "Not that way they did it, "Kenny replied solemnly. "They even put the window back!"

     He led me into the living room.  I hadn't really believed him until I saw the shredded wrapping paper scattered all over the floor and the lack of presents.

     "But they were in such a hurry, I guess, that they forgot this one present.  It's for you...." he pointed to the lone gift on the floor.  It was no bigger than the box of shoes and I was almost certain they were the ones I had asked for, but right then I didn't feel like opening them.  I wasn't going to at first but Kenny insisted.

     "I wanna see what it is," he said quietly.

     So I knelt beside the box and unwrapped it.  The shoes were there but they had a little note on top that read: "I got you good!"

Needless to say, my brother gloated the whole day.  He had hidden the presents in the kitchen.  If I had only looked I wouldn't have spoiled his prank, but I had, foolishly, believed him.

     And because of that, I was sparing no expense in making my brother the fool he was born to be.  I would slip a note under his nose at dinner that said, "Merry Christmas!  And because you're 16 we thought we'd give you some wheels.  Look in the driveway."  He would get excited, run out there and find a little Hot Wheels car in the driveway with a note that said, "I got you so good!"  I could almost imagine the look on my brother's face.

Mom had baked the most luscious dinner for after our "gift-devouring" as Dad called it.  It consisted on baked turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits, green beans, corn on the cob and red velvet cake for desert.  I was sitting next to Kenny at our little square table.  Mom and Dad were sitting on either side.  Mom asked Kenny to say the blessing and when he did, I slipped the note under his napkin, written with my best adult handwriting, which had been highly applauded for its resemblance to our mother's.  He finished and we began to eat.  I waited.  Not once did that boy pick up the napkin.  He used his sleeve to wipe his mouth and everything else.  Once, I gave Mom this look and then nodded towards him.  She said, "What is it, Selena?"

     "Nothing," I said.  I was getting anxious.  Not once had my prank ever failed, and, not once had it ever ceased to happen.

     Finally I made a big deal about wiping my mouth and then looked at Kenny.  "Um, you have gravy on your nose," I lied.

     The insufferable boy touched his nose with his finger and then said, "No, I don't."

     Just when I was beginning to think he'd peeked during the prayer and saw me hide the note, Kenny picked up his napkin to wipe his face, showing that he was done eating.  I held my breath as he looked down to the note and cocked his head.  But just as his hand touched it my dad cleared his throat and stood up.  My brother put his hands in lap and looked up at our father.  I sighed, then did the same.

     "Kids, this has been a wonderful meal, " he looked warmly at Mom who flushed then looked down.  "I think it's about time you knew something."

     Kenny and I shared a confused glance.

Dad continued, "This will be the last Christmas we have together as just the four of us."  At this point Mom stood up too, and took Dad's hand.  They gazed dreamily at each other and then looked down on us. 

Mom smiled.  "We're having a baby!     "What?"  Kenny and I yelled in unison.  We looked at each other, horrified.

     "But why?" I asked, "Why now?  Isn't fourteen years a little too much of an age difference?"

     Kenny shook his head wildly, "I'm not changing any diapers!"

     Then suddenly Mom and Dad burst out laughing.

     Kenny and I were shocked.  We looked at each other.

     "Oh, you guys!"  Mom said, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

     Dad was red in the face, grinning.  "Now we know why you kids do this every year!  The look on your faces, it was priceless!"

     I was speechless.  Our own parents pulled a prank on us.  I turned to Kenny.  We were both still sitting down.  Kenny raised his eyebrows at me then looked to Mom and Dad.

     "You know this is war," he said quietly, our parents calming down a bit.  They gave us a look.

     "Oh, don't be ridiculous," Mom said, sitting back down.  "This is just a one time thing."

     "Yes, this won't happen every year like with you two," Dad said, taking a seat also.

     Kenny grinned at me and I knew we were thinking the same thing.

That's what you think, but just wait until next year.