Faces at Midnight
How many faces do you have?
Is it one, two, or maybe more?
So many characters it’s hard to tell them apart, but there’s a piece of you in all of them.
It’s like your personality has been split into categories.
Like stepping into a library, unsure of what is fact, fiction, or fantasy.
I think I figured it out and it shut you down, because you know I know your secret.
Did you think I would just walk away?
It’s not in my nature, I’m a fighter you know.
I’ve forgiven your past.
I watch as you wash away the darkness that she stained you with.
Yet, sometimes it still makes me feel vulnerable and insecure.
I’m not as blind as you may think.
And I’m not as weak as I may appear.
It takes a lot of courage and strength to be me.
Forgiving, transparent, compassionate and real.
She tried to save him and show him the way.
Pushed him through when life got in the way.
She was the one he knew would always be there, but he took for granted the love they both shared.
Time had passed on but he never left her heart, she thought all they needed was a little time apart.
The night was dark and rainy when he called out to her. “Come get me.” he said, only why was a blur.
They told her it was late and that he would be fine. That he should handle is own problem this time.
She wasn’t there when he needed her that day. And he pulled the trigger when life got in the way.
So don’t tell me to let go and not to hold on so tight, had I kept on holding I would have saved him that night.
Worry, fear, and other synonyms
- If I lowercase my titles, is it unprofessional?
- When my dad tells me to stop worrying, is it because he’s annoyed or looking out for me?
- Will I ever stop worrying?
- Should I have deleted that message to that boy?
- What if that boy checks his notifications and realizes I deleted a message?
- Oh my gosh, my life is over!
- That magazine isn’t going to take my story, why do I keep trying?
- I want to write the great American novel, but I also want to make a living. How do I get around that?
- I’m fourteen with more stress than a thirty year old.
- I took like three tests and am convinced I have like three diseases.
- Yeah, I’m not going to school tomorrow.
- Everybody hates me.
- I just want to send an email without biting every single nail off in worry of something going wrong! That’s not too much to ask, surely.
- Nothing I write will ever be good enough for myself.
- If I romanticize it enough, will I finally dye my hair blonde?
- Am I going to ever win another writing competition? Did I peak at twelve?
- I’m never going to be good enough.
- I can’t think of a good title.
- I already sent the email without including that one detail, so the magazine won’t publish me. Like they were considering me anyway! There wasn’t any money involved either, and I won’t have any money in the future because I’ll be up to my shoulders in student loan debt! The world hates me.
- Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!
- So, back to sending that email...they haven’t responded, and it’s been over thirty minutes. I’m overreacting. My life is over.
- I just want to be F. Scott Fitzgerald and have college students write essays about me when I’m dead, is that really too much to ask for?
- I’m getting better as a writer, but it doesn’t make a difference because I’m still not getting paid, and Dad said if I don’t make any money off of writing, I’ll have to stop.
- I’m wasting away my life.
- Sometimes, I listen to Ribs by Lorde ’cause I’m a cliche little sad girl and realize that my life is basically going to amount to nothing and I’ve spent my entire childhood worrying about adulthood only to realize it’s here and I’m not prepared.
- I’m anxious because I didn’t use commas in that sentence.
- I didn’t use commas in that sentence! Who am I? Who have I become?
- I want chocolate...
Good Company
I read once that wars aren't worth fighting, that they only lead to pain and suffering of all involved. Maybe so, but it doesn't stop us from having them. And somebody told me that some battles, you just can't win. Maybe so, but it doesn't stop us from trying.
"Company, stand down," we can all hear the grave tone of our fearless leader before the words fully imprint themselves in our brain.
I took advantage of the split second where the gunfire halted, and the wind whistled through our bones. The drummer could be heard, echoing even though the sticks had frozen in shaking hands. Crepe Myrtle flowers drifted softly downward, soaring despite the chaos around them. The birds were all gone; animals know when to leave. Why don't humans know too?
"Company, stand down," the order vibrated in the summer air for a moment before we listened, "it's over."
I thought about Father Francis, who had come with us to pray over every battle. At dawn, back at camp, he had muttered some prayers before rushing to the main tent. We didn't think much of an old man's ramblings when he told us not to go. After all, what would a reverend know about war? Had he stuffed his rifle with bullets, set his aim dead straight, and fired with the intention to take a life? Had we not sniffed powder in bloody Monday air and inhaled the still-smoking, always-burning flesh of a town after a riot? Did we not train for this battle, the-end-all of all previous battles? Was this not the day we had waited for, yearned for like a soft touch, lusted after? Did we not look with pride in our eyes, hope in our minds, dreams in our palms, and plans drilled into our temples, to the rising sun that tasted of victory? Didn't we know better than him?
Memphis stood up from his crouch, "But, sir, the enemy is approaching! We almost had them-"
"Be silent! I'm your superior, and you'll do as I say, when I say. Stand down."
So we stopped. We stopped because Memphis was a private, and we were just infantry. Who were we to argue with the big boss? We dropped our guns and our pride on the mushy ground that infiltrated our boots like soldiers to an enemy line. Then, one shot rang over the horizon, barreling towards the captain. A sputter left his thinnly pressed lips, but we couldn't hear even if he had said anything coherent. Sometimes, even Goliath falls.
The peace was gone, the boundary between men and beast severed, all ties to honor and loyalty smashed under the enemy's boots, our lines had broken. The birds would not return to their nests for a long time. Gun smoke and sweat and blood filled my lungs. But I was in good company to die.
Stay
We all have moments when we feel invisible. Moments that lead our hearts to believe that in one quick poof we could vanish, and the world wouldn't know. Our absence would go unnoticed and unacknowledged.
Last night, I decided to star-gaze alone, so I could give this theory some considerable thought. Stretched out on the cold grass, I watched a rather vibrant shooting star make its debut and almost instinctively mumbled my wish: "I just want to disappear."
This morning that wish came true. I never would have expected it. I mean, I hadn't ceased to exist entirely, but I suddenly had the ability to become invisible on command. I could simply "disappear", just like that! I tested it over and over, and every time, it worked perfectly. "This is my chance!" I thought. I could finally affirm that my absence wouldn't turn a head or bat an eye.
I had to be careful at first, because I didn't want to concern Mom. Therefore, I was present at breakfast, present at prayer, and present as I jogged with little Jane to the bus stop. However, immediately after sitting down in the back of the bus, I vanished. The bus ride went on as usual until we got to Katie's stop. Katie boarded and scanned the bus in a quiet panic. I quickly realized she was looking for me. Katie would always sit next to me because the boys in the front pulled her braids. I suddenly felt anxious. I hated to see that look on her face. I needed to be there! Without further hesitation, I reappeared and waved down Katie. I watched the relief wash over her little body. She joined me in the back and promptly began reading her novel with a look of contentment on her face.
Before I walked into my first class, I decided to become invisible again. I sat in the back corner and didn't make a peep. The bell rang and Ms. Bean walked to the front. Ms. Bean is a very new teacher, and I've heard a lot of awful rumors about her. Of course, I don't believe them. In fact, even when I'm bored out of my mind, I try to look engaged in her lessons. I just want her to feel like somebody is listening. Today I watched her battle for the class's attention. No one was listening-- not even pretending to listen! To my dismay, no one was smiling at Ms. Bean either. My heart broke, and my feet became restless. I quietly walked to the doorway, reappeared, and made my entrance. "Sorry, Ms. Bean!" I exclaimed. "The bus was late today". I watched as the corners of her mouth spread into a smile. "It's okay. We are happy you could join us today," she said.
By the time lunch came around, I was starving. Maybe my invisibility tricks were burning extra calories. After piling food on my lunch tray, I walked into the middle of the cafeteria. To my surprise, my usual spot was still open. My classmates had literally sat around it. I quietly walked over and listened to the conversation taking place before me. “Where did she go?” I heard Ben ask. “I wanted to be in her group for the science project.” My heart began to swell. I knew he was talking about me. Science was my favorite subject, and I always received excellent scores on the biweekly projects. Ben was a good student too, but he would choose History over Science any day. Dang, I would have loved to work with him this time. He proceeded, “If I don’t raise my grade in science class, my mom won’t let me try out for the school play.” My heart sunk. He deserved the lead in the play this year, everyone knew it! If Harry got the lead again, we were planning to sign a petition. I became anxious, and quickly made my way to the doorway. I reappeared and walked into the cafeteria yet again. As I set down my tray at the table, Ben turned to me in desperation. “I was hoping you’d come!”
Choir class really proved to be something else. Our choir teacher was particularly on-edge today, and I couldn’t figure out why. I sat in the back, expecting to kick back and enjoy the show. To my dismay, the altos sounded atrocious. Absolutely horrid. I knew the alto part by heart, and it really pained me to hear it sung so off-pitch. It also pained our teacher, Mr. Long. His squinty eyes said it all. I became anxious. Suddenly, I found myself running to the door, only to reappear and re-enter. The teacher gave me a look of disapproval for my tardiness, but I just brushed it off. I joined the altos in haste. In no time, the girls began to follow my lead and sing on key. Mr. Long’s eyes began to open a little more and his shoulders relaxed immensely. “Thank goodness you are here,” the girl beside me whispered.
That phrase rang through my head time and time again. I couldn’t shake it. My entire theory was falling apart before my eyes! Disappearing wasn’t so enjoyable anymore, because I continuously felt a need to reappear. I was exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions. Back and forth, back and forth. I just wanted to stay. I JUST WANTED TO STAY! That thought entered my heart, and I ran with it. Literally. I ran the track workout after school with more energy than ever before. The wind pushed at my back and propelled my legs over every hurdle. Being physically present in that moment felt like such a gift. And that is when the other “gift” faded away. I couldn’t disappear anymore, but the beautiful thing is, I didn’t want to.
Kelly’s Friend
“Mommy, can I go show my new toys to Bobby?” It was Kelly’s birthday and she was excited to show off her gifts to her favorite playmate.
“All right, sweetie,” said Kelly’s mother. “But don’t be too long. Grandma and Grandpa will be here soon for your birthday dinner.”
“Why don’t you invite Bobby to join us?” said Kelly’s momma. She, like her wife, was slightly concerned that they had never met this boy before. Especially since Kelly spent so much time with him.
Kelly had never been very good at making friends. She didn’t like to do the things that other kids liked to do. She had no interest in dollies or dressing up and, for her birthday this year, she had asked for nothing but science toys. So, when she had come home from school one day and announced that she had made a new friend, her mothers had been overjoyed.
“His name is Bobby,” Kelly had told them. “Bobby Restin.”
“Oh? And is this a boy at your school?” her momma had asked.
“No. But I met him on the way home from school and I talked to him and I said I would talk to him again tomorrow.”
“And, how old is Bobby?” asked her mother, her parental instincts piqued.
“He’s eight, same as me.”
Both mothers breathed a sigh of relief.
From then on, asking after Bobby was a regular part of the after-school repertoire in Kelly’s house.
How was school? Did you have a good day? How is Bobby?
Most days, Kelly would go see Bobby on her way home. From this, her mothers gathered that he was homeschooled. Poor Bobby probably didn’t have many playmates, so they were tolerant when Kelly’s visits lasted a little longer. She was playing with a lonely child, after all.
“Bobby doesn’t really like to go places,” said Kelly, when her momma had suggested she invite Bobby to dinner.
“Well, we’d still love to meet him,” said Kelly’s mother. But Kelly barely heard her. She was gathering up her new rock tumbler, her microscope and her book of Fascinating Animal Facts to go show Bobby.
And, with a promise to be back before dinner, Kelly was gone.
“Maybe one of us should go with her next time,” suggested Kelly’s mother. “It would give us a chance to meet Bobby’s parents.”
“Good idea,” said Kelly’s momma. “What did she say the last name was? Robbins? Rollins?”
“Restin,” said Kelly’s mother. She had remembered the name because it struck her as sort of unusual. “I think I know someone called Restin. Isn’t the manager of the fruit market a Restin?”
“Maybe. Of course, if Bobby is homeschooled, it’s possible his parents don’t get out too often either.”
“That’s true.” The discussion was interrupted by the doorbell. “Oh boy! That’s my parents. Are you ready for this?”
For the most part, the kids at school were satisfied with ignoring Kelly and, now and then, saying something mean to her as they passed her in the halls. But on the day she had met Bobby, she had been victimized by a particularly cruel bully called Francis. Kelly had found a really cool rock and she was going to take it home to see if she could look up what kind it was in one of her books. Francis had taken it, called her a freak for thinking it was cool and even flung it at the poor girl’s head when she tried to run away.
She ran further than she ever had before, her eyes streaming with tears. She ended up much further away from her school than she had ever been before. It was a very old part of town, where hardly anybody lived anymore. But, Bobby was there. His whole family were there. And, after the worst bullying shed ever experienced, talking to Bobby had made Kelly feel better.
It hadn’t stopped the bullying, of course. But at least Kelly had someone to talk to about it. she couldn’t tell her mothers because they would just call the school and get Francis in trouble…which would just get Kelly in more trouble.
Besides which, sometimes grownups don’t have time for kid stuff. Sometimes, moms have big, important stuff to deal with and they just can’t make time for the little, important stuff of childhood. Of course, when you’re little, all the stuff seems like big stuff, which is why it can be so difficult for kids to understand when grownups say they’re too busy.
But Bobby was always there. Bobby always listened. Bobby was a real friend.
So, on the day of her ninth birthday, her arms full of all her wonderful birthday presents, Kelly climbed the hill on the far side of town and dropped to her knees at the familiar site which told her she had reached her favorite friend.
“Hi, Bobby!” said Kelly to the broken stone sticking up out of the ground. She reached out and touched the stone, wondering if Bobby could feel it, and read the words which had almost totally eroded away:
HERE LIES
BOBBY
REST IN
(1892-1900)
The rest of Bobby’s family were buried on this hill, too, but their stones had long since withered away. Only gray, moss-covered lumps remained to mark the spots where Bobby’s relatives were resting.
Kelly showed Bobby all of her cool new stuff and read to him a little from her book of Fascinating Animal Facts. Like the fact that elephants are one of the few species besides humans to formally mourn and bury their dead (she thought he would like that one).
But, she couldn’t stay long. Soon, she was gathering up her things and saying goodbye.
It was always the hardest part of Kelly’s day. Saying goodbye to Bobby.
THE END
This is not part of a larger work. It's just a short sample of the kind of writing I do. I have lots of stories in just about all genres and styles. Comic, tragic, science fiction, romantic, westerns, fairy tales, thrillers and poems. Sometimes they come out as kids stories, sometimes they don't. But I never know which they're going to be until I'm done.
For more information and links to some of my stories/poems, visit sixtysomethingtrees.com.
BIO: I was born in California, currently live in Louisville, but I consider Disneyland to be my hometown. I started writing because I watched Shakespeare In Love and I thought it would help me get girls. By the time I realized how wrong I was, I found I wasn't actually good at anything else, so I just kept at it. Since then, I have written plays, novels, short stories, poems, essays, kids books and angry Facebook rants. In addition to many self-published volumes, my work has appeared in magazines, anthologies and on various websites. My hobbies include pizza and naps and my turnoffs include manual labor and institutionalized racism.