On the Outside Looking In

This is the first part of a short story that I wrote as an exercise for a writing club that I've been attending this winter at the library in Kensington. I had so much fun with it. Hope you like it too!

On the Outside, Looking In

Olivia loved to look in windows. She had made the mistake last week of telling her friend Miriam about her new pastime:
“So, you’re a peeping Tom! No, wait, a peeping Tomasina!” Miriam had laughed.
“It’s not like that! I just glance, I don’t really look!”
“Looking, glancing . . . It’s all the same. You’re spying on people. Maybe you should buy a camera and get a job with the National Enquirer!” Miriam hadn’t been able to keep a straight face.
“It was just to pass the time, so I wouldn’t get creeped-out on my way home from work at night,” Olivia had insisted.
“Looks like it backfired on you!” Miriam had smirked.
“Maybe those guys were putting on dresses to go to a costume party!” Olivia had said. She had made a big show of digging in her pocket for her apartment key so Miriam wouldn’t know how embarrassed she was at the memory.
“Yeah, right! You are so naive, Olivia! You should have stayed in the country with your mommy!” Miriam had teased.
Olivia hadn’t been in the mood for teasing. She had swung around and stomped up the front steps, “Not all of us can be as worldly as you!”she had retorted, slamming the door in her friend’s face. Her eyes had filled with tears as she leaned against the door.
What’s wrong with me? she had questioned herself. Maybe she’s right. Perhaps I’m not ready for the real world. I’m such a baby! It’s no wonder they all think that I shouldn’t be living on my own. Miriam must think that I’m losing it.
Her mother’s words had come back to haunt her: “Why couldn’t you have waited until you were nineteen? You don’t see Beth and Angie rushing off to the city.”
“Don’t you dare compare me with them!” Olivia had fumed. As far as her mother was concerned, her brainy cousins could do no wrong.
“Well, you could have at least picked a safer part of the city to live in.”
“Mom, the West End isn’t like it used to be. It’s probably safer than any other area. Besides, all the cool, talented people live here. We’re all one big happy family, looking out for each other,” she had said. That wasn’t really true. There was a bootlegger next door to her apartment and some old guy had tried her door by mistake the other night. Harmless really. Then occasionally there was a scantily-dressed young lady hanging out across the street in front of the Army Navy store. You just learned to keep the locks done up, that’s all!

The walk home from the café was well-lit. It only took her about twenty minutes in good weather. She’d noticed the first week she’d moved that the majority of people didn’t close their curtains. At first she had just glanced in – televisions flickering, someone working out on a treadmill or pacing with a crying baby in their living room. It didn’t feel wrong to look. She likened it to watching a continuing reality show. Ordinary people, living ordinary lives . . . Or not so ordinary.
One night she had watched as a man ranted, throwing things against the wall in front of two little kids. Next thing, the mother stormed out the front door with the kids in tow and her bags packed, yelling to her husband, “I’m not coming back until you sober up!” Olivia would never forget the look of desperation on the woman’s face when she realized that she had witnessed the whole scene. That was Olivia’s first inkling that looking in windows may not be a good pastime.

Saturday night was a crazy night at the café. Miriam had called in to say that she wouldn’t be in for a couple of days. Probably getting back at me, knowing that I’d be stuck with doing a double shift.
The place was packed with people after the art show at the little gallery down the street. Olivia was waiting on tables, cooking food and trying to keep her boss, Donald, who had picked that night to get drunk, from embarrassing himself in front of the customers.
In the corner booth by the window slouched Roger Almon, looking as out of place in the chatty crowd as a twinkie bar on a plate of sushi. His gaunt figure practically disappeared inside his down-filled jacket and you could hardly see his eyes under the ever-present aviator hat. He’d been staring out into the parking lot since 7:30. Not that it was unusual for him to be there. He always stopped in for his supper – usually a couple of hungry-man sandwiches. And he never talked much. Miriam had told her that he lived somewhere in the neighborhood. Tonight he looked lost.
“Are you OK, Roger?” she asked, bringing him his third cup of coffee.
“What? Oh, yeah, sure, everything’s fine, just fine,” he smiled nervously, wiping his hands on his jeans.
Olivia knew he was lying, but who was she to question him, so she just smiled back. About five minutes before closing time he dropped some change onto the table and walked out. He seems so lonely, she thought, as she wiped off the counter and washed the last of the dishes in the sink.
“You’re a great girl, Olivi-ivia,” sang Donald, as he put up the “Closed” sign. He locked the door and lit a cigarette, even though there was already one smoking in the ashtray under the counter. He brushed against her as he walked behind her to the cash register. She shivered, hoping it had been an accident.
“Great job tonight, girlie!” He sauntered closer. “I might even give you a little raise,” he said, leaning in, his sour breath nearly curling her eyelashes.
“Oh, that would be great!” She retreated into neutral space. She wiped off the counter and threw her apron on the back of a chair. “Well, I guess that’s it. See you tomorrow,” she said, practically tripping to grab her coat. She didn’t wait to hear his reply.
Yuck! she cringed, as she flew out the back door and into the street. After a couple of blocks she slowed down, shivering in revulsion at the thought that Donald may have been putting the moves on her. He’s old enough to be my father, for God’s sake. I don’t know what I’ll do if he ever does that again.
By the time she got halfway home Olivia had come to the conclusion that she needed the job, no matter what. Perhaps I imagined it, she thought.
Too busy to eat at the café earlier, she had grabbed a sandwich and stuffed it into her bag. Her stomach told her that it couldn’t wait til she got home so she stopped under a street light, pulled off her mittens and rummaged for the sandwich in the clutter of her belongings.
Resuming her walk, she took a bite. The free food was the only reason she stayed at the café. Donald had assured her when she was hired that he would never charge her for meals. It really cut down on her grocery bills. She was determined to make it on her own, so every little bit of savings counted.
I will not look in windows, I will not look in windows, she chanted, as her boots crunched noisily into the snow. She could still picture those guys in the dresses.
“Can you spare some change?” murmured a man, who had been leaning against the wall of the liquor store on the corner.
“Sorry, I’m broke too,” she shrugged. “But you can have half of my sandwich.”
“That’s OK. Have a good night,” said the man, jamming his hands under his arms to keep warm.
Finishing the sandwich, Olivia crumpled up the paper bag, put it into her pocket and stuffed her freezing hands back into her mittens. She started across the street. Inside the small yellow house ahead of her, in the glow of one pale lightbulb, a man’s silhouette appeared in the window. He paced for a few moments, sat down on a high back chair and hopelessly leaned his head into his hands. Shoulders shaking, he was obviously crying. She tried to avert her eyes but obstinately they kept returning to the scene.
A car horn jolted her into awareness. She hadn’t realized that she had stopped on the street! By the time she hurried to the curb and glanced back at the window, it was in darkness. The poor guy! she thought.
It was like her mother was right there, scolding her, “Olivia, you could have been run over! You have to stop worrying about other people and start worrying about yourself!” She wondered if everyone carried their mother’s voice around with them like she did.

She fished out the old key, which she now wore on a chain around her neck,clumsily fit it into the lock and opened the front door of her apartment. Her glasses steamed up when she entered so she set them on the big rad while she took off her jacket and hat and eased her tired feet out of her boots. A hot cup of tea with milk and honey and a nice hot bath would fix everything! She loved her apartment. It was tiny but cozy and warm. First things first. Put on the kettle in the kitchenette, then run the bath water. She had been so excited when the landlord had shown her the bathroom. The old claw-footed tub with the slanting back had been the deciding feature.
She added a generous squirt of the apple-scented bubble bath that Miriam had given her for Christmas. Miriam. Damn! I shouldn’t have yelled at her. I’ll have to apologize tomorrow. She’s a good friend.
I will publish the second part soon!

Awating Spring

Awaiting Spring

Snow-covered hills and valleys
Air crisp and thick with frost
North wind sweeps down upon us
Earth's warmth is all but lost

Patiently the bulbs are waiting
Blanketed by powdery snow
Locked within, the power of beauty
Waiting for the spring to grow

Are you something I imagined
Warm winds and gentle rains?
Round the corner, so elusive
Will you ever come again?

Dreams of walking through the forest
Scent of pine and tender shoots
Maybe you'll arrive tomorrow
Waking up the sleeping roots

Music fills my head in morning
Lilting song of chickadee
Blue jay calling, day is dawning
Life is calling out to me

Icicles, so gently dripping
From their home beneath the eaves
Buds awakening from their slumber
Soon transforming into leaves

Children playing in the puddles
Rainbow boots and sparkling eyes
Sprigs of grass along the siding
Prove that old-man winter dies

Hear the music of the peepers
Singing me a lullaby
Drifting through an open window
Their theatre an open sky

Air is warming, nature wakens
Makes you want to dance and sing
Join with me and celebrate it
This, the long-awaited spring!

Life's a beach!
Friends are essential.
Make time for fun
And moments of perfection.

Friends at the beach

Insomnia

This is the poem I wrote a couple of months ago when Insomnia struck once again.


Insomnia

Again I suffer from the inability to sleep.
My feet ache to be busy but my body lags.
My brain is filled with flying thoughts that chase around
as if they have complete control.
I try to remember the sleep of childhood,
interrupted by a dream that hung in my head when morning dawned,
softened by the light of day.
Mid afternoon I could have closed my eyes and passed the time away
lying in my living room, with sun streaming on my face,
but life got in the way.
And now it's midnight.
Morning's only hours away.
That calm relief of sleep
eludes me.

Shasta visits Nana Gladia

Here is an excerpt from the story I'm writing. Shasta visits her Nana Gladia

Shasta knows that she should go straight home but can’t help herself from stopping in to see her Nana Gladia. Gladia’s home is hardly visible from the air since it is nestled cozily among the low branches of the ground spruce. The pathway to Nana’s door is paved with a mixture of green and white sea glass, and along each side grows a profusion of purple and white violets.
Before Shasta even gets to the door she hears her Nana’s voice, “Come in my darling! I had the feeling that you would drop by.”
Shasta enters the compact home, and gives her nana a huge hug. Hugging Nana Gladia is like burying your face in a bouquet of wild flowers.
“Oh Nana, I’ve missed you!” Shasta says.
“And I’ve missed you my darling, so that’s why I concentrated on your sweet face until you walked in my door,” Gladia says and giggles. “Say hello to my little friend.”
“Oh hello, Sunflower,” Shasta says as she pats the baby chipmunk that is curled up in a chair by the fire. Sunflower looks up at her lazily and turns over on her back to have her tummy scratched.
Shasta notices two tiny brown bunnies under the stairs, who twitch their noses as they dream of a meadow of pink clover.
Nana Gladia’s house is never without the presence of one or more small creatures of the woods. She takes in young motherless animals and sometimes tiny birds that have fallen out of their nests, and cares for them until they are able to manage on their own. They treat her place as sort of a drop-in center, and Shasta loves to hear all their stories about life in the West Woods. Gladia even sets out small containers filled with honey to feed the bees and insects that happen to be in the area.
Shasta is amazed once again by the brightness and beauty of her very favorite place. Her Nana has decorated every surface with small pieces of wonderful sea glass. On the walls are patterns and swirls that look like waves of water, dancing in the sunlight and on the floor are amber pathways resembling the red earth. Of course her Papa made all the furniture, but Nana added sea glass before the clay dried, creating a unique mosaic on each table, chair and shelf. The rare blue pieces have been reserved for the fireplace. Even the staircase is adorned with brilliant color.
Shasta always marvels at how her nana is the only one of her family who uses her wings indoors. She watches with glee as Gladia flits around, making tea and bringing out the cakes, then suddenly zips off to polish the glass on the table in the center of the room. She’s never seen any other Minwing do so many things at once! Sometimes Gladia flies so fast, her wings are invisible!
“Where have you been these last days, my darling?” Shasta’s Nana asks as she brings the tea and cakes to the table, “I thought you had forgotten me.”
The sunlight shines through the door and glints off Gladia’s beautiful silver hair.
“I could never forget you, Nana Gladia,” Shasta replies, laughing, “I’ve just been so busy lately, and I really shouldn’t be here today, but I just had to talk to you.”
They sit down together and Gladia pours the steaming tea into shells and offers Shasta a tiny cake from a green glass plate. Shasta can never turn down a cake that Nana has made. They are lighter than air and have a fruity taste that no other Minwing cook in the West Woods has managed to imitate. Shasta carefully adds a drop of honey to the tea and sips it gratefully.
She gets a bit of a start when Nana Gladia leaves her chair and flies off again to the eating area and returns carrying a small shell filled with purple and white violets.
“There, that sets everything off doesn’t it?” she says, as she places them in the middle of the table.

Winter, soon a memory.

I had forgotten what warm air felt like
Until today.
Snow, melting into streams
along the side of the road,
Inviting memories of playing as a child.
When I imagined small pieces of wood
to be boats, floating to the ocean.
I feel the squish of red mud under my boots
And catch the smell of a distant Spring.
My canine companion happy
to be away from the confinements of home.
Upon returning from my walk
I cut the sagging branches
off the Linden's in my yard.
I put them all together
into a pile, to await the sad separation
from the stately trees.
Mother Nature was overzealous
in her stormy pruning.
Then I find a deck chair,
faded with too many summers
and wobbly with it's cheapness.
I sit and turn my pale face
to the sun
And dream of summer.