Collab: CYS Correia & MsH
CYS Correia:
Mommy told me about this day, ‘school starts’ was marked on the calendar, but she never said she would leave. I didn’t want to go! I was happy with her, her hugs were warm like a blanket in the winter. She left, but I couldn’t remember hearing goodbye. She never gave me what I didn’t want, and I didn’t want to hear goodbye. I wanted to hear her read me a book, like ‘Animal sounds’. “And the cow says?” She used to ask. “Quack!” I always answered. She laughed and gave me kisses on the face saying: “My little ducky.” They had that book in school, but no one read it. It was for babies. They called each other “baby” the same I called my sister ugly. What’s the problem with babies? I know they stink but you can always put them in the other room.
One boy was making everyone cry and calling them babies after, I wanted him to stay far from me. In the park there used to be boys like him, making children cry, mommy would never let them get close. He walked towards me. “I like your hair,” he said. I thanked him, maybe I was wrong, he seemed nice, I didn’t need protection. Maybe I didn’t need mommy. He spat out his gum onto his hand and fixed his eyes on me.
* * *
She came into my mind today, it was rare the occasion this happened. When I started school, I began to think less and less about my mother. She stopped being the tree who fed the poor man, and became the decorative flower in the mansion of the rich man. As a kid, when I thought about family I thought about my parents, but after so many years away I sometimes struggled to remember their names. Family, when I thought about this word as an adult, I imagined Julie, she who carried me during tough times and carried my children. I’m sure my parents encountered the same change in their lives.
Mother was never a person who enjoyed being alone, when father was gone I couldn’t leave her alone. “A place filled with people like you, to be friends with,” I told her the day I put her in care, over twenty years ago. She was revolted by the idea, but she probably changed her mind. I don’t think I’ve seen her since that day, we talked only by short phone calls. She, of course, was the one who called. It was raining the day I put her there, it seemed like the gods were fighting and mourning over the clouds. I was so busy that day that I can’t recall if I said goodbye. Maybe I should visit her as a surprise like she used to do to me at school. I enjoyed when she did that, I was sure she would too.
Soon after my thoughts, I received a phone call-
Farewell.
MsH:
Jamie, you brought me to the "home" you echoed of...around which I could not settle my thoughts... today I am gathered as if together again in memory... and I remember well enough to pen:
How you held my hand so seamlessly connected; Small, growing independent, though with a tremble! My high heels in step with you all the way to the mouth of the big yellow bus--where Life snipped away at our phantom umbilical. Your Father's bracelets jangled as I reluctantly let go, seeing your countenance so contrary to these pretty fleeting chimes. A delicate squeeze of fingertips, as I always try to give... while the unknown re-introduces Itself at the gapping precipice. Why are we inclined to say He? but there it is, a shadow cast of doubt, shaped like the Grim Reaper, that Man in Black. But yes! Of course happy new experiences are awaiting you! My eye as ever seeking to reassure you, while we inevitably shift our glances across the proverbial morning dew that always seems to glisten on the very first day of school.
And who knew, at that tender moment, that I would now most remember you as an outwardly grown man with a book childishly balanced on your head; a white football dribbled at your knee. A complete showboat! declaring with mock confidence that you would major in some kind of Kinesthetic Cosmoverbal Metaphysics! gauging if Mama would approve... Who was the "Inspira" for that?! we laughed right with you: Messi, Dumas, Hawkings, Kroos... how I loved to hear you make your own sense of our Babel-tower. Folding my arms with a smile, I though: Yes, This Boy Will Travel! And my heart blossomed to see that you were so indifferent to shoes and brands and such things that unnecessarily drag a man around when he mistakes their price tag for his own value, or worse tries to sell himself to the crowd.
But I frown.
Things change... every seed, I see, lands. We do not grow old, so much as gravity pulls us down till we are pressed, face to face, as it were with the ever seductive makeup and perfume of the bare ground that will embrace us all. Soon. Every last tie severed, yet somehow tied back together. You were in the end no different; tormented by the allure of Existence. You reached farther and farther away for that beauty, so elusive and incomprehensively distanced. Your Father and I so proud that you were making-your-living out there, though I know you were pained by such "unimagined" meagerness. What was it you called it? "Mere subsistance!" Why did it remind me with sadness of how untaintedly grateful you were when I'd nursed you?
If only you had need of nothing more! But no, the heart and mind wanders; the true Mother it longs to explore. I, I accept that I fade, as I must, to make way.
When you finally stopped by, ready to start your family anew, how we rejoiced, your Father and I! For what could make a nostalgic old hen happier than such an extension of the roost? even if observed from so very far. Playful years passed. Decades elapsed. Everything repeating, exasperatingly fast. You are so tired now. I remember that look in the mirror, at the end of the day, when the last of the laundry has been put away and just there is just one little nightlight left on. Complete hush as shared fairy tales begin to mold true stories of our real characters in their own beds.
My mind is starting to wander. Back across your face. Selfishly. I see me---Not reflected. You look so tired now; the lines evidence joys and worries and blanks. So much ahead! without me.
You've a third or maybe a quater of the years of me. No I'm confused; you have all of me. It is I who has a third of you. No, to be sure I have all of you, all I'll ever have till the end, locked in my memory. I'm failing you.
It's locked. I have lost the key. I dread this more than any other grief or malady.
We have shuffled to the red sign. You in turn, releasing me. My hand, bare, silent, stiff now. My face expressionless. Only my soul with its eternal maternal sense, still articulates all of this. I am sorry. I am forgetting you; and Love; and Pain, too.
A single laser point remains from me to you--- Fare well.
The Opposition
... He should be like extension of skin ...there should be no barrier in-between. I used to believe that there's something to be seen in the eyes; something to channel the sort of understanding I thought should funnel from one to another in sympathetic Spirit. And I thought I had foolishly noted that similar colored irises had favorable conditions for transfusion of Self... in my far-offest-dreams I was indeed enamored with the Idea that a pair (in the absence of every sensational cue!) could connect in simpatico communique. But should anyone have whispered it I would have telegraphed: That's... Impossible...
I Should Have Been Warned By His Eyes
I ignored my doubts, my jangling warnings
overcome by his well practiced charm.
He smiled but it didn’t seem to touch
his eyes, it looked rehearsed but
I didn’t notice because they were so blue.
He said just what I wanted to hear -
you’re beautiful, a rose in my lapel.
He spun his web and trapped me there
I ignored whispers of malevolent voices
clanging and shouting to step away.
He liked to maintain power over my life,
was narcissistic and impulsive and reckless.
Sad to say, this attracted me -throbbing magnets
Antisocial, he was, except to me.
To me, he was Prince Charming in dulcet voice,
excusing himself often to snort cocaine
loving the high, enhancing his sexuality.
Seeming disassociated from world outside,
focusing on me and working his magic,
leading me step by step into his lair.
I followed him without a glance back,
he took what he wanted with force -
a coercive sex without love which
gave him excitement without guarantees
and then he added me to his string
of conquests by slitting my throat,
tossing me on the ground to decay.
A true psychopath with no warmth,
I should have been warned by his eyes.
NOT OVER YOU
When friends ask I say I’m doing fine,
Then I shrug them off with a smile,
It’s been months we haven’t talked,
I still hear your voice when I’m stargazing
I still hear your voice over the sea breeze and the waterfall.
Life is so hard without you,
I thought I’d cheat it all,
Act like I don’t care,
Act like I’ve moved on,
I fall and can't crawl
It ain’t easy!!
It’s no ABC or 123 that I’d recite in my sleep.
It ain’t easy!!
You haunt my dreams during the day and at night,
It ain’t easy!!
You rape my thoughts
And cripple my delicate heart
It ain’t easy!!
Your ghost is always in the room mocking me,
The loud music never helps,
Neither do the drugs,
Everything just seems to remind me of you
I don’t want to acknowledge the fact that I’m not over you.
Monster fish
Herwa: Are we going fishing today?
Tobeth: There's a storm coming. It looks like it's going to be a big one. I think we should stay at home.
Herwa: Come on Tob. The water isn't far from here. I have a feeling that I might catch a large one today.
Tobeth: (sighs) Oh my Herwa. You can be a pain sometimes. Learn to be still sometimes.
Herwa: That's no fun Tob. Come on let's go. Don't forget your net and fishin' pole.
Tobeth packed his fishing tools and placed them in the back of his truck. Herwa sat at the back with the tools and whistled a tune.
Tob drove to the largest water body that was just near their home. Herwa had become better at fishing ever since she started learning from Tob. He was a great instructor.
They set their fishing tools by the dock. Tobeth helped Herwa with placing the bait on the fishing pole.
A few minutes later, they were both ready to catch their dinner.
Herwa: I think I caught something!
Tob: Really? But we just got here.
Herwa: (chuckles) Hahaha! Gotcha. I was messing with you.
Tob: (laughs) I should have known.
After a few hours time, Herwa started to yawn.
Tob: Patience...just wait for the fish to come to you. Okay.
Herwa felt bored. She didn't like waiting for hours on end.
Then she felt a mighty pull on her fishing pole.
Herwa: Hey, Tob!
Tob: Yes?
Herwa: There's something pulling at my pole.
Tob: Well, pull it in.
With all her might Herwa reeled the great big fish towards the dock.
Herwa: Tob, this fish seems to be fighting & pulling the line.
Tob placed his pole down on the dock and grabbed Herwa's fishing pole.
He pulled with all his strength. It felt like the line was about to cut. But that didn't stop Tob from reeling in the catch of the evening.
Herwa felt anxious and couldn't wait to see what fish had caught the bait.
There was a loud snap. The fishing line was cut. Not only was the bait lost, so was the hook.
Before their eyes a giant monster fish dived out from the great extensive lake.
It had enormous teeth, strange piercing green eyes and a greigey colored scales.
Herwa was stunned. She couldn't believe what she saw. It looked like a dragon or viper fish.
Tob grabbed Herwa's hand and quickly pulled her away from the dock. No monster fish was going to harm her.
They ran back to the parking area and Tob started his truck.
Herwa: What about your fishing pole?
Tob: It's already in the back of my truck.
Herwa: Great. Step on it. I think I've had enough fishing for today.
Fear and Folly
It was the perfect Spring day. I could feel the warmth of the sun covering my back as I sank my knees into the cool, moist soil and began to dig. Gardening had always been one of my favorite ways to pass the time. As I ran my fingers through the dirt, the most pleasant breeze brushed against my face and rolled through my hair. Just as I thought the day couldn't get any better, I looked over and saw his handsome smile.
Even though time had passed and the world seemed to be improving, at least where we lived, I still breathed a sigh of relief with every glimpse I caught of my husband. The drought had a cataclysmic domino effect that encompassed the globe. So many lost their livelihood and the rest, their lives. I never really knew what it was to be thankful before surviving such turmoil. He and I both had faced certain death, but one day, the climate started changing, much to our benefit. As quickly as things fell apart, they began to recover. Now, here we are, alive and well, together.
The population of the world had diminished quite drastically. All of the well to do families that "survived" the events (thanks in large part to their wealth and very little to their resiliency) had recently gotten together to decipher a plan on how to increase the population once more. I, for one, could care less of the world's future, only our future. There was still a part deep down inside of me that longed to have children. My fertility issues kept us from having any before the drought and I'm thankful we didn't, the chances of survival would have been grim. My fertility problems were still an issue. The state of the world's population and people's desperate desire to replenish it had given the medical community the exact motive they needed to increase their price. It was sick, but they easily got away with it. Even still, if it was just him and I until the end, that's all I could ever desire.
After we finished in the garden, I cooked dinner. Oh the lovely aromas that danced around the kitchen. Fresh herbs and spices sweetly stung my nostrils as I whisked ingredients together. The sound of the burner clicking on and the butter sizzling in the pan were sounds I longed for as I laid in bed awaiting my death. I used to view cooking as a chore and now it is one of my greatest joys. I perfectly plated every meal now and this one was no different. Being that it was the perfect Spring day, we decided to eat out on the back patio.
My husband, ever the pessimist, watched the nightly news every night without fail. Sometimes it felt as if he didn't believe things had truly improved, like he was "waiting for the other shoe to drop", as the saying goes. As I set the table, I heard an abrupt interruption come over the television. The words"BREAKING NEWS" scrolled across the screen. The news anchor began speaking, "Government officials have reached a decision to help increase the world's population. After months of deliberating, they have decided on something they are calling 'Optimal Procreation'. Please go to the city nearest you as soon as possible to attend a meeting for further explanation. All city halls will be open for the next twenty-four hours straight and your representative will explain this new and exciting plan".
We locked eyes, both fearful and hopeful. I don't remember how we even made our way to the car, just the getting in and locking eyes. "What do you think this plan is all about? I mean, with my fertility issues, what do you...how do...do you think we...is there a way for us?".
"I-I-I, I don't know. I feel all of this nervous energy though. Can you imagine if there is? If we can finally have the family we've been longing for since we married? I'm trying not to be too hopeful and chances are this is just some grand idea that will only benefit the incredibly wealthy, as usual! But I just can't help but feel hopeful."
"Me, too", I say, trying desperately to conceal how nervous I truly felt. This was the first time I had seen him optimistic in over ten years. I didn't want to crush it with sound logic. It was difficult enough reliving the pain of the failed attempts in our past, but to add my age to the already established problem left me feeling hopeless. I had a suspicion in our younger years, one that haunts me, that his desire for children was far greater than mine. I love children and the thought of having my own brings me joy, though I don't think I would live a life of regret if it didn't happen for us. I fear that he would, which is why I wish to conceal my anxiety.
We pull up to the city hall at the same time as about twenty others. This city used to be much busier and brighter. Now it is a ghost town. Once the dust had settled, most surviving people chose to live outside of the city limits, maybe because of the crippling sense of inferiority to the rich who owned and ran the cities now. As we walk closer to the entrance, I see a mixture of anxiety and hopefulness, the same emotions filling our faces. We made our way through and into the central meeting area.
After a deafening ten minutes of silence, our areas representative, Richard Boysenberry, sauntered to the podium. It was almost as if he could sense our anxiousness and wanted to torture us a few minutes more. He turned to face us and smiled a cheesy smile. Representative Boysenberry was very robotic in nature, as if his words were previously recorded and every last movement was rehearsed. His voice reminded me of the announcers at boxing matches. He had a permanent grin, slicked back salt and peppered hair, and a blank stare. As he began to speak, I felt as if I had been drop-kicked right in the gut by someone wearing steel-toed boots.
"Good evening ladies and gentleman, I am here tonight to explain the details of the governments plan for Optimal Procreation. Not only will this plan increase our nations population, but, we are hoping, this plan also creates a better human race."
What? He sounds as if he is trying to sell me a brand new, state-of-the-art car. Optimal Procreation? A better human race? These words had my stomach in knots. How could I, someone who struggles with fertility, now nearing fifty, be a part of creating this better human race? And what exactly is wrong with the humans we are right now? I slowed my thoughts to a still, collecting myself so that I could try to comprehend what else Representative Boysenberry had to say.
"Tomorrow morning, each of you will be paired off with your Optimal Mate. These Optimal Mates have been preselected. We have taken height, weight, hair color, eye color, overall health and intelligence into account for every individual in our nation that is of good health. You will be living with them for the next month in order to determine compatibility. If, at the end of the month, both members determine they are compatible with one another, they can then choose to enter into our Procreation plan. If either one of you determines that you are not compatible, then you are free to return to your prior spouse, if you already have one".
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!!!," I yell emphatically, "first of all, why does it sound like you are giving me orders and not an option? Second of all, what do you mean, 'then you are free to return to your prior spouse'?". Why was I the only one asking questions? Why was everyone else quiet? It must be shock! It must be.
"It sounds like I'm giving you orders instead of an option because I am", Boysenberry is looking at me like a principle looks at a disruptive student, "this isn't the free America you remember from before, dear. Our nation has no other option. This is how it will be. And if any of you disagrees to the terms, there will be a nice, warm bed for you available in the nearest prison". He had gone from a cheesy car salesman with a pitch to an authoritative and wicked man with too much power. "Now, if everyone could please make their way upstairs, we have cots laid out for you all. Please find your name on the cots along with clothes. Dinner will be served momentarily."
The small crowd of people who all looked anxious and hopeful now looked confused and sad. We went upstairs and the panic set in, for me and many others. I couldn't imagine being separated from my husband for a month and the deep-rooted insecurities of my incapabilities further reinforced my previous state of hopelessness. I collapsed into my husband's arms, weeping.
"Did you see the armed guards at the door?", he asked me in a hushed voice, sweat beading off his forehead and his body trembling.
"No!!!", I wailed ever so painfully, "what are we going to do?". I could not help but to sob uncontrollably.
"Babe, babe! It's going to be fine, right? We just have to give it a month with these people they are forcing on us. That's it. We can do one month apart, right? After all we've been through??? One month is a cake walk. Thirty days, just thirty days and we'll be back together".
I tried to pull myself back together, "you're right, you're right. It was all very overwhelming to hear. We'll be okay, we'll be okay", I try and convince myself.
The next morning was grim. It looked just as perfect as the previous perfect Spring day, but it felt grim. The armed guards came in, separated the men from the women. I hadn't even paid attention to anyone else's reaction. I was too caught up in my own dread to care. I wasn't even permitted a final kiss with my beloved husband. The women fell in line and awaited medical examinations. We were lined up right against the second floor windows and we all watched as our husband's loaded buses to some unknown location, hoping to return to this city hall and their wives in thirty days. There was an ache in the room that was indescribable. I entered the room for my examination, one other woman entered with me.
We tried to make small talk, she more chipper than I. She told me how she had lost her husband and was looking forward to the possibility of companionship. I told her my story and she offered her sympathy. Sympathy, who needs it? Still, she was kind and it was nice having a sounding board. The doctor came in and told us both to lay down. He punctured our arms and gave us intravenous fluids because we are both "showing signs of dehydration" so he says. As I lay there, my new found friend and I began singing, "don't worry about a thing, every little thing's gonna be alright." I started feeling quite sleepy, maybe emotionally exhausted, my eyes got heavier and heavier and heavier....