elbow anchor weight
push and pull to center mass
lines made round in grace
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
Thursday, December 7, 2017
The Seamstress and the Bead (3)
Lena woke slowly, uncertain of the time. The alarm clock said 6:42, her phone said 9:04. Dang it. She'd overslept. Her brain panicked into activity much the way a silent (but red hot) pan jumps into action when water is splashed at it. She tried to cache to-do-list items as her mind shouted commands.
-Fix alarm for tomorrow
She grabbed her second favorite pair of (mostly) clean jeans.
-Do laundry
She managed to bump her hip into the door frame as she stumbled into the bathroom. Had adolescence really been so recent that she couldn't remember how wide her hips were? She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and realized she had forgotten to put on a shirt. She went back down the hall, rubbing her hip. Back to the bathroom for deodorant.
-Buy more deodorant
Bedroom closet for socks. Kitchen for granola bar. Bedroom for backpack. Kitchen for yogurt and banana. Keys... where were the keys?
She scowled at the messy kitchen table. Come on... think! Her brain was guiltily quiet.
"Coat!" She grabbed it from the closet and jabbed her hands into the pockets, feeling for the rubber cover on the car key. She forced her feet into her tied tennis shoes, stretching her socks oddly and collapsing the backs of the shoes. She decided she didn't have time for her coat, and went out the front door. The screen door gave a satisfying bang that cursed the cold-porridge colored morning.
-Get house key back from Riley
-Do laundry
She managed to bump her hip into the door frame as she stumbled into the bathroom. Had adolescence really been so recent that she couldn't remember how wide her hips were? She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and realized she had forgotten to put on a shirt. She went back down the hall, rubbing her hip. Back to the bathroom for deodorant.
-Buy more deodorant
Bedroom closet for socks. Kitchen for granola bar. Bedroom for backpack. Kitchen for yogurt and banana. Keys... where were the keys?
She scowled at the messy kitchen table. Come on... think! Her brain was guiltily quiet.
"Coat!" She grabbed it from the closet and jabbed her hands into the pockets, feeling for the rubber cover on the car key. She forced her feet into her tied tennis shoes, stretching her socks oddly and collapsing the backs of the shoes. She decided she didn't have time for her coat, and went out the front door. The screen door gave a satisfying bang that cursed the cold-porridge colored morning.
-Get house key back from Riley
Her car started with only a few whiny squeals. Lena shuddered with the cold and pulled onto the main road. She had class starting in less than an hour and she needed to finish her statistics assignment and print it out from the lab. She needed to be early today. Before class was when she was most likely to be able to talk to Matt.
Matt... She took a deep breath and sat straighter in the front seat. Why couldn't she have picked out her blue sweater? She glanced down at her black drama club shirt and tried not to think of the geeky quote and signatures all over the back. At least it was clean. Today was going to be a good day. Maybe she could go Christmas shopping. Maybe it would snow. Just one more week before break.
"You got this!" A (mostly hopeful) affirmation smile and two stoplights later, she pulled into the parking lot.
Matt... She took a deep breath and sat straighter in the front seat. Why couldn't she have picked out her blue sweater? She glanced down at her black drama club shirt and tried not to think of the geeky quote and signatures all over the back. At least it was clean. Today was going to be a good day. Maybe she could go Christmas shopping. Maybe it would snow. Just one more week before break.
"You got this!" A (mostly hopeful) affirmation smile and two stoplights later, she pulled into the parking lot.
Thursday, November 9, 2017
The Seamstress and the Bead: (2)
Lena spent Sunday studying and transplanting her overgrown snake plant, Monty. His pot was a rather heavy terra cotta model, with an artistic splash of calcium residue around the bottom. It had a long crack that should have split the pot in two a decade ago. Despite several attempts to clean it, it never looked clean, but Lena figured he probably like it that way. She dumped Monty's pot into the back garden and worked her fingers between his roots, shaking the dirt clumps off. It was chilly outside, and the clouds painted the sky a matte grey. Next to the garden was a small shed that was steadily composting into the muddy clay soil underneath. Yanking the door open, Lena swept an arm in front of her face to catch any invisible spider webs. Cautiously, she knocked a stack of plastic pots onto the floor, kicking them apart to scare out any hibernating insects. After inspecting the cleanest looking one, she returned to her disentangled plant. Monty was large enough to probably make three plants, but she settled for two. She placed the larger one back in the terra cotta pot and the smaller one in the plastic pot. She brought both back up to her room just before dinner.
Monty seemed content with his new soil and the extra space. As her closest confidant, the snake plant had been awarded the title of Honorary Study Buddy. Lena practiced reciting latin names and terms to the plant and imagined him quizzing her. Anatomically accurate (well, mostly accurate) sketches were stamped on every spare bit of paper on her desk. They got progressively messy looking as the evening wore on.
She pulled out her student teaching application and glanced over it. She decided to fill out the easy parts and leave the parts that required thinking for tomorrow. Half-way through the third page, her brother, Roy, poked his head into her room. His dust brown hair was missing it's usual little spike above his forehead. He must've mussed it up during a nap. He had just started high school this year, and he was already taller than Lena by several inches. He bounced a little on his toes, "Hey, do you think we should do brownies or cake for Dad's birthday?"
"Have you asked Dad?"
"He's still at school, finishing some grading. It's gonna be a surprise."
"How about brownies? I can help. I'm done with this," she said tucking the papers into the front of a notebook.
Downstairs, Lena's two youngest siblings, Eli and Claire, were lounging on the couch in front of a movie. At the mention of brownies, both sat up, all prior boredom forgotten. Eli sauntered into the kitchen, attempting to look nonchalant, following them to where Lena's mother stashed the chocolate chips. Claire failed at hiding her enthusiasm and did her best five-year-old version of barefoot river dance.
"Claire, you can't have any chocolate until after dinner. Mom said." Eli scoffed as he got a glass of milk from the fridge.
"Well, you can't have any treats!" Claire put her hands on her hips, taking at stab at impersonating her mother. She jutted her chin out for good measure.
Lena sighed, they hadn't even started cooking yet and already there was the makings of sibling warfare. Sometimes it was hard to feel like a complete adult while Lena still had to mitigate disputes between her siblings. Particularly Eli and Claire who were five years apart in age, and had trouble seeing eye to eye.
Helena Marie Anderson was the oldest of five siblings and the only one that had ever moved out of the house. She supposed that had to count for something, even if she had moved back in a year later. She hadn't really wanted to come back home, studying was easier while she was away. But half-way through her second semester of college, her classes couldn't keep her interest and she was dreading working at a desk, or with computers. She had decided to change majors, but it had been too late for her steadily degrading GPA. The journey out of engineering had taken a toll on her scholarships and she'd had to move back home. At least it was nice having people to talk to again.
Making brownies was simple enough that Roy did it pretty much on his own, while Lena sat on a stool and read off ingredients from her mother's battered recipe book. She only had to shoo Eli and Claire out of the kitchen twice. After the brownies made it into the oven Eli snuck in and licked out the bowl in the sink and then disappeared again. Lena shrugged at Roy; they had already licked off the beaters and spatulas.
Lena's father came in just as her mother pulled the chicken broccoli casserole out of the oven.
"Lena, can you see if Riley is awake yet? She's been up there all day. She won't be able to sleep tonight..." Her mother stretched a bit as she set the food down on the table, stiff from writing out her lesson plans. Sarah Anderson taught a little group of pre-school students out of the house three times a week. She had taught all of her children, and now that they were all in school, she didn't have to keep doing it, but she wanted to.
Riley was a senior in high school. She had stayed up all Friday night finishing an AP Spanish project, and had become nocturnal over night. Lena knocked on her door softly.
"Riley?" No response. "Riley we're going to eat dinner..." She slowly opened the door to her darkened room. A radio played softly in the corner, masked by the sound of a window fan aimed at ceiling. Lena clicked on a lamp, illuminating a pile of blankets spread diagonally across the bed. "Better hurry, everybody's starving." She crossed the room, trying to make progressively louder foot noises, and knocked on the door again on the way out.
Lena made out the sound of the garage door squealing open and then shut. She heard her father's steady footsteps, and then Claire's little slapping feet palpitating against the linoleum. "Happy Birthday, Daddy!" Lena bounced down the stairs, knocking on the wall outside Riley's room. An agitated, muffled sound followed her down the stairs, and Lena smiled a bit.
People say you are supposed to have dinner together so you can spend time with family; talking and sharing a happy experience. Lena had always found this an odd reason. Her family ate quickly and the socially positive parts of dinner generally happened beforehand, while everyone was subtly picking at food in the kitchen. Everything else was some sort of argument about the food. But it was certainly entertaining.
After finishing his food, Eli had attempted to pick a piece of chicken off of Claire's plate, and she had retaliated by trying to drink some of his juice. Roy pointed out that Claire wasn't going to finish her food anyways, and that Eli was doing her a favor. Then they started debating about what would count as having eaten enough dinner in order to be able to have some of Dad's birthday brownies. Riley seemed to be coming around and had tied her long brown hair back after her eyes adjusted to the light. Lena's parents were trying to decide how to best maneuver children and vehicles during the upcoming week.
They had a little celebration after dinner. Lena's mom had wrapped some new socks up in a cereal box with a little bell to try to confuse Mr. Anderson. The bell was muffled enough that he saw through the ruse and he guessed it right away. Eli had made his father a little ceramic soap dish in his art class. Lena had trouble not laughing. Her father had a not-so-secret alias as Mr. Lee Anderson, the art teacher at Eli's school.
Lena hadn't wrapped her gift, but she pulled it out from under the tablecloth. The little snake plant division was just the right size to fill in a gap in a nearly full windowsill in the art room. She suggested that maybe her dad could help Eli could make him a nice pot for it next year. Riley ran upstairs to get her gift. She came back down and handed over a bookmark she'd made out of bent copper wire. It was actually quite lovely and Lena wondered if she could borrow or perhaps subtly adopt it later. Maybe she could ask Riley to make one for her next birthday. Roy brought out the brownies he'd made and cut them up. After brownies the family piled onto the living room couch and chair to watch a post-apocalyptic movie that Mrs. Anderson had rented from the library. Claire fell asleep half an hour into it, and Eli followed suit shortly thereafter. By the end of the movie Lena's eyelids felt heavy and her thoughts were full of dust. She hurried to return to her room to review notes one last time before bed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next few days passed largely uneventfully. Monday contained two biology lectures, educational psychology, and a 6 hour, closing shift at the fabric store. Tuesday was her anatomy exam (a solid B) and another 3 hour fruit fly counting lab. By the end of the lab she had microscope rings like red monocles around her brown eyes. As she walked to her little red car she tripped three times, thinking she was seeing twitching black limbs in the corners of her eyes. She started studying for the next anatomy quiz Tuesday evening and had strange dreams about accidentally stealing the anatomical models of the arm from the anatomy lab room. The disconnected muscles would start convulsing and crawling into her backpack as she tried to catch them and to put them back on their dummies. Wednesday was a laundry day, combined with math homework, avoiding preschoolers, and another closing shift at the fabric store.
But Thursday was a bit different.
Monty seemed content with his new soil and the extra space. As her closest confidant, the snake plant had been awarded the title of Honorary Study Buddy. Lena practiced reciting latin names and terms to the plant and imagined him quizzing her. Anatomically accurate (well, mostly accurate) sketches were stamped on every spare bit of paper on her desk. They got progressively messy looking as the evening wore on.
She pulled out her student teaching application and glanced over it. She decided to fill out the easy parts and leave the parts that required thinking for tomorrow. Half-way through the third page, her brother, Roy, poked his head into her room. His dust brown hair was missing it's usual little spike above his forehead. He must've mussed it up during a nap. He had just started high school this year, and he was already taller than Lena by several inches. He bounced a little on his toes, "Hey, do you think we should do brownies or cake for Dad's birthday?"
"Have you asked Dad?"
"He's still at school, finishing some grading. It's gonna be a surprise."
"How about brownies? I can help. I'm done with this," she said tucking the papers into the front of a notebook.
Downstairs, Lena's two youngest siblings, Eli and Claire, were lounging on the couch in front of a movie. At the mention of brownies, both sat up, all prior boredom forgotten. Eli sauntered into the kitchen, attempting to look nonchalant, following them to where Lena's mother stashed the chocolate chips. Claire failed at hiding her enthusiasm and did her best five-year-old version of barefoot river dance.
"Claire, you can't have any chocolate until after dinner. Mom said." Eli scoffed as he got a glass of milk from the fridge.
"Well, you can't have any treats!" Claire put her hands on her hips, taking at stab at impersonating her mother. She jutted her chin out for good measure.
Lena sighed, they hadn't even started cooking yet and already there was the makings of sibling warfare. Sometimes it was hard to feel like a complete adult while Lena still had to mitigate disputes between her siblings. Particularly Eli and Claire who were five years apart in age, and had trouble seeing eye to eye.
Helena Marie Anderson was the oldest of five siblings and the only one that had ever moved out of the house. She supposed that had to count for something, even if she had moved back in a year later. She hadn't really wanted to come back home, studying was easier while she was away. But half-way through her second semester of college, her classes couldn't keep her interest and she was dreading working at a desk, or with computers. She had decided to change majors, but it had been too late for her steadily degrading GPA. The journey out of engineering had taken a toll on her scholarships and she'd had to move back home. At least it was nice having people to talk to again.
Making brownies was simple enough that Roy did it pretty much on his own, while Lena sat on a stool and read off ingredients from her mother's battered recipe book. She only had to shoo Eli and Claire out of the kitchen twice. After the brownies made it into the oven Eli snuck in and licked out the bowl in the sink and then disappeared again. Lena shrugged at Roy; they had already licked off the beaters and spatulas.
Lena's father came in just as her mother pulled the chicken broccoli casserole out of the oven.
"Lena, can you see if Riley is awake yet? She's been up there all day. She won't be able to sleep tonight..." Her mother stretched a bit as she set the food down on the table, stiff from writing out her lesson plans. Sarah Anderson taught a little group of pre-school students out of the house three times a week. She had taught all of her children, and now that they were all in school, she didn't have to keep doing it, but she wanted to.
Riley was a senior in high school. She had stayed up all Friday night finishing an AP Spanish project, and had become nocturnal over night. Lena knocked on her door softly.
"Riley?" No response. "Riley we're going to eat dinner..." She slowly opened the door to her darkened room. A radio played softly in the corner, masked by the sound of a window fan aimed at ceiling. Lena clicked on a lamp, illuminating a pile of blankets spread diagonally across the bed. "Better hurry, everybody's starving." She crossed the room, trying to make progressively louder foot noises, and knocked on the door again on the way out.
Lena made out the sound of the garage door squealing open and then shut. She heard her father's steady footsteps, and then Claire's little slapping feet palpitating against the linoleum. "Happy Birthday, Daddy!" Lena bounced down the stairs, knocking on the wall outside Riley's room. An agitated, muffled sound followed her down the stairs, and Lena smiled a bit.
People say you are supposed to have dinner together so you can spend time with family; talking and sharing a happy experience. Lena had always found this an odd reason. Her family ate quickly and the socially positive parts of dinner generally happened beforehand, while everyone was subtly picking at food in the kitchen. Everything else was some sort of argument about the food. But it was certainly entertaining.
After finishing his food, Eli had attempted to pick a piece of chicken off of Claire's plate, and she had retaliated by trying to drink some of his juice. Roy pointed out that Claire wasn't going to finish her food anyways, and that Eli was doing her a favor. Then they started debating about what would count as having eaten enough dinner in order to be able to have some of Dad's birthday brownies. Riley seemed to be coming around and had tied her long brown hair back after her eyes adjusted to the light. Lena's parents were trying to decide how to best maneuver children and vehicles during the upcoming week.
They had a little celebration after dinner. Lena's mom had wrapped some new socks up in a cereal box with a little bell to try to confuse Mr. Anderson. The bell was muffled enough that he saw through the ruse and he guessed it right away. Eli had made his father a little ceramic soap dish in his art class. Lena had trouble not laughing. Her father had a not-so-secret alias as Mr. Lee Anderson, the art teacher at Eli's school.
Lena hadn't wrapped her gift, but she pulled it out from under the tablecloth. The little snake plant division was just the right size to fill in a gap in a nearly full windowsill in the art room. She suggested that maybe her dad could help Eli could make him a nice pot for it next year. Riley ran upstairs to get her gift. She came back down and handed over a bookmark she'd made out of bent copper wire. It was actually quite lovely and Lena wondered if she could borrow or perhaps subtly adopt it later. Maybe she could ask Riley to make one for her next birthday. Roy brought out the brownies he'd made and cut them up. After brownies the family piled onto the living room couch and chair to watch a post-apocalyptic movie that Mrs. Anderson had rented from the library. Claire fell asleep half an hour into it, and Eli followed suit shortly thereafter. By the end of the movie Lena's eyelids felt heavy and her thoughts were full of dust. She hurried to return to her room to review notes one last time before bed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next few days passed largely uneventfully. Monday contained two biology lectures, educational psychology, and a 6 hour, closing shift at the fabric store. Tuesday was her anatomy exam (a solid B) and another 3 hour fruit fly counting lab. By the end of the lab she had microscope rings like red monocles around her brown eyes. As she walked to her little red car she tripped three times, thinking she was seeing twitching black limbs in the corners of her eyes. She started studying for the next anatomy quiz Tuesday evening and had strange dreams about accidentally stealing the anatomical models of the arm from the anatomy lab room. The disconnected muscles would start convulsing and crawling into her backpack as she tried to catch them and to put them back on their dummies. Wednesday was a laundry day, combined with math homework, avoiding preschoolers, and another closing shift at the fabric store.
But Thursday was a bit different.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
The Seamstress and the Bead: (1)
I had a story idea and I just ran with it. This is unedited and straight out of my head. We'll see where it takes me.
I leaned my head against the cool plastic table and breathed out a long sigh. The buttons on my back pockets ground into the metal folding chair as I shifted a bit. I heard the door alarm from the other room as someone walked into the large storage room (often referred to as "the back") and my radio buzzed where I'd dropped it on the table. Without looking, I clicked it off, yanking the earpiece off before a question blared into my ear. I didn't feel like thinking about whether we had any red and white striped fabric that would be suitable material for pirate breeches. I tried to let my mind find a blank and peaceful thought, like enjoying a good stretch in the morning. But that made me think of muscles; and anatomy; and my impending exam.
trapezius
latissimus dorsi
spelnius scapulae? No, that couldn't be right. And where were the attachments?
"... the back." I muttered into the table. I had the test in two days and I had only just started studying. I also had to fill out paperwork for my student teaching application, get started on christmas crafting and repot some house plants. Not exactly a peaceful weekend.
My legs had started to go numb so I sat up and wiped the condensation from my breath off the table. I stood up and walked over the the break room fridge. Inside, my carrot, tangerines and sandwich stared at me reproachfully. It couldn't possibly be their fault they weren't anything appetizing. I grabbed the carrot and violently chopped off the end with my large front teeth, kicking the door shut behind me. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the usual haunts, leaning against the sink.
A badly timed soccer play, pictures of cousins and nieces and nephews in Halloween costumes, and cats scared of cucumbers rolled past my eyes.
Seriously, the cucumbers thing was still going around? Who posted that? Oh, great uncle Joseph. Yeah, he would.
I glanced at the clock. Had it really already been 15 minutes? I put my half-eaten carrot back in the fridge and slid my earpiece back over my ear, clipping the radio to my belt. Other people are always hanging on to every last second of their breaks, but this girl would rather be working! I didn't believe it for a minute. I let my mind wander to my favorite daydream to keep me going.
It involved this guy from my statistics class. I would only barely admit that I had a crush on him in my head. And I usually forgot his name. I think it was Matt. He sat in front of me and I'd pitched in on a couple conversations he'd had with some buddies that sat on either side of him. Sometimes he did me the courtesy of turning around when I spoke. Once, when my usual seat was taken, he invited me to sit by him. It'd been a Tuesday. I like Tuesdays.
I would imagine him coming into the fabric store, looking flustered. He'd ask for help. Sometimes it was muslin for a costume party he was going to, other times it was velvet because he had a secret hobby carving ornate jewelry boxes. He'd be sent to me because I was in the right section. He'd recognize me right away and we'd get chatting and then he'd make up an excuse to see me again. He would be needing a date for the costume party, or advice on buying jewelry for his mother, or even help with statistics. (Not that I'd know anything at all.) And then he would come and see me all the time...
"Hey, Lena! Do you know if we have any more colors of red fleece than this?" Carol gestured to a pile of half unrolled bolts of varying shades of red splayed on the counter like a ritual sacrifice. Behind the guest's back I rolled my eyes. I knew from a glance that we didn't. Our store usually only had four shades (two of polar fleece and two of anti-pill). I'm sure Carol knew too, but asking another person is a polite way of reassuring a customer without wasting the effort of running all over the store. I did my best impersonation of a hurry and shuffled over to the cutting counter.
"I can check for you, but I was just in the back room earlier today and I didn't see any fleece. Are you trying to match something in particular?" From an overstuffed Vera Bradley bag she drew a swatch of quilting cotton.
"I'm trying to match this red flower here." She gave a little huff, "apparently, it's hard to match."
"I think the bright red is definitely closer. Is this for a quilt?"
"Oh, no. I want to upholster my couch with it. This is the fabric I used for making the throw pillows." I glanced at Carol. We'd both heard stranger things. The lady gave me a smirk and elbowed me. "I'm just joking. It's for a quilt."
"Could you use a different backing? We have sweatshirt fleece, and soft and comfy fleece, thin fleece..." I trailed off. "Have you thought of flannel?" I led her over to a short isle in the corner and habitually grabbed two bolts of fleece from the top of a shelf of shirting material. Someone had probably stashed them there earlier. Somewhat hidden behind my armful of fabric, I gestured to all the things I'd mentioned. She seemed content to browse. I turned to leave and walked straight into a pillar of a man who had moved into the isle behind me.
"Ompf." The fabric I'd only barely been holding slipped from my hands and unspooled into a lumpy puddle on the floor. I tried to grab it before it got dirty, apologizing for my clumsiness.
He bent over to help me, muttering. Behind us I heard the lady say, "George, be careful dear!" On my way up with an armful of fabric my head collided with a hanging banner display. I muttered a small curse under my breath. I shook my head trying to clear out the awkwardness and the throbbing pain. I tried to take some of the fabric back from him, but my arms were too full. I walked over to a round display of bridal fabrics and piled the fleece on the top. He tried to put his pile on top as well. Unfortunately, the display I had chosen wasn't well balanced and 5 more bolts of satins and sheers toppled over the back side of the display.
I couldn't help it, a little sarcastic "Great," exited my lips. I dove after a sixth bolt, a taupe chiffon, and but only succeeded in grabbing the edge and making it unspool over the pile like caramel topping on vanilla ice cream. I glanced back at the man, surely he would try to help me pick this all up. I'd already opened my mouth to refuse his help, but he didn't even apologize.
"George? What do you think your mom would think of this?" The man blinked several times at me and turned to walk back to the lady looking at red fabric.
It's not like I wanted his help anyway. Some people are just rude.
After cleaning up the fabrics and securing them to the display I meandered back over to the cutting counter to cover for Carol while she went on her break. While she put some heavy rolls of upholstery fabric on a cart, I wrapped up some fabric remnants with labels to be marked for the discount bins. In hushed tones, I told her of the rude encounter with the tall man.
"You know, some people don't have a proper upbringing at all. They never have to clean up after themselves or anyone and they just don't understand the concept of respect."
"Maybe it makes them feel awkward. He was the essence of awkward." I laughed half-heartedly, glancing around to make sure he wasn't somehow overhearing me. Carol shook her head and headed towards the back room.
I finished rolling up the last remnant and stowed the box under the counter, grabbing a duster to sweep down the surfaces. I glanced at my watch; one hour left. I leaned out to brush a large bit of faux fur off the edge of the counter. My earphone wire caught on a drawer and yanked the ear piece off. I dropped the duster over the edge of the counter.
Tonight is just not my night. At least no one saw that.
I walked around the counter and picked it up. Everything in this store was covered in lint and bits of string. I took a couple of silly swipes at the floor and watched the bits of fur and fluff skitter across the floor.
"Ahem" it was the tall man, right behind me. Again.
"Oh, how can I help you?" A false smile plastered to my mouth.
"I need a 4 yard piece of this." He shoved a bolt of lipstick red flannel at me. I took it from him and walked back around the counter.
"What are you making?" This conversation would have to be textbook because I was still miffed.
"Nothing. It's for my grandma."
"Is there anything else she needs? batting? binding?"
Silence. I looked up and he was looking away at the lady, who was flipping through a book of patterns at a nearby table. "I'll have to ask."
"Well, let me know if there is anything I can get you." I suddenly felt sorry for the woman to have such an impassive grandson as her only shopping companion. I handed the man the slip of paper with the fabric information on it. He nodded at me slightly. It could have been a twitch. But then I noticed his dark brown eyes gazing at me, almost smiling. He tilted his head only slightly, curiously, as though he recognized me from somewhere.
It made my face itch. He lingered a moment too long and then turned sharply and walked away towards the registers. His grandmother followed him shortly, waving at me. "Thank you for all your help!"
The rest of the night passed quickly. I felt my face go hot and then cold as I tried to make sense of how to feel about him looking at me like that. Did I know him from somewhere? George? No. And then his rudeness! Thoughts cycled around in my head while Carol chatted idle gossip about her new boyfriend's ex girlfriends sister's dog that had puppies... The thoughts revolved as I drove home as well. I forgot to shut off the radio in protest of the Dealership-That-Must-Not-Be Named's commercial that played twice in a row. I sat through a green light.
At home, I couldn't focus on studying. I looked at anatomical maps of the muscles of the upper back and thought (rather oddly) of how that man held the piles of fleece I dropped. I fell asleep at my desk thinking about whether or not I would ever see him again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I dreamt that I had started sewing another dress. It was a full ball gown with a periwinkle tulle skirt. I was wandering around the fabric store looking for tiny silver beads that I'd lost. I'd been trying to sew them on to the dress, but they kept rolling away under the displays. As I walked through the store, the tulle swishing around my legs, I could feel the little beads everywhere I walked. They were under my feet pinching and rolling around. I finally slipped and landed on my back looking up at a canopy of fabric that hung the ceiling of the store. And then the tall man's face loomed over me, full of concern at first and then laughing. He was laughing at me, flat on my back in the mess I'd made all over the store. I wanted to get up but my muscles weren't cooperating. He wouldn't help me up.
I woke up several hours later stiff as a Notre Dame gargoyle. I clicked off my lamp and shuffled to the bathroom. My mouth was full of sour fuzzies that the toothpaste only masked. My little sister's alarm would be going off soon; she always forgot to turn it off on the weekend. I dropped my body unceremoniously onto my bed, throwing the blankets over me and melting into my mattress. I would worry about studying tomorrow.
-----1----
I leaned my head against the cool plastic table and breathed out a long sigh. The buttons on my back pockets ground into the metal folding chair as I shifted a bit. I heard the door alarm from the other room as someone walked into the large storage room (often referred to as "the back") and my radio buzzed where I'd dropped it on the table. Without looking, I clicked it off, yanking the earpiece off before a question blared into my ear. I didn't feel like thinking about whether we had any red and white striped fabric that would be suitable material for pirate breeches. I tried to let my mind find a blank and peaceful thought, like enjoying a good stretch in the morning. But that made me think of muscles; and anatomy; and my impending exam.
trapezius
latissimus dorsi
spelnius scapulae? No, that couldn't be right. And where were the attachments?
"... the back." I muttered into the table. I had the test in two days and I had only just started studying. I also had to fill out paperwork for my student teaching application, get started on christmas crafting and repot some house plants. Not exactly a peaceful weekend.
My legs had started to go numb so I sat up and wiped the condensation from my breath off the table. I stood up and walked over the the break room fridge. Inside, my carrot, tangerines and sandwich stared at me reproachfully. It couldn't possibly be their fault they weren't anything appetizing. I grabbed the carrot and violently chopped off the end with my large front teeth, kicking the door shut behind me. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the usual haunts, leaning against the sink.
A badly timed soccer play, pictures of cousins and nieces and nephews in Halloween costumes, and cats scared of cucumbers rolled past my eyes.
Seriously, the cucumbers thing was still going around? Who posted that? Oh, great uncle Joseph. Yeah, he would.
I glanced at the clock. Had it really already been 15 minutes? I put my half-eaten carrot back in the fridge and slid my earpiece back over my ear, clipping the radio to my belt. Other people are always hanging on to every last second of their breaks, but this girl would rather be working! I didn't believe it for a minute. I let my mind wander to my favorite daydream to keep me going.
It involved this guy from my statistics class. I would only barely admit that I had a crush on him in my head. And I usually forgot his name. I think it was Matt. He sat in front of me and I'd pitched in on a couple conversations he'd had with some buddies that sat on either side of him. Sometimes he did me the courtesy of turning around when I spoke. Once, when my usual seat was taken, he invited me to sit by him. It'd been a Tuesday. I like Tuesdays.
I would imagine him coming into the fabric store, looking flustered. He'd ask for help. Sometimes it was muslin for a costume party he was going to, other times it was velvet because he had a secret hobby carving ornate jewelry boxes. He'd be sent to me because I was in the right section. He'd recognize me right away and we'd get chatting and then he'd make up an excuse to see me again. He would be needing a date for the costume party, or advice on buying jewelry for his mother, or even help with statistics. (Not that I'd know anything at all.) And then he would come and see me all the time...
"Hey, Lena! Do you know if we have any more colors of red fleece than this?" Carol gestured to a pile of half unrolled bolts of varying shades of red splayed on the counter like a ritual sacrifice. Behind the guest's back I rolled my eyes. I knew from a glance that we didn't. Our store usually only had four shades (two of polar fleece and two of anti-pill). I'm sure Carol knew too, but asking another person is a polite way of reassuring a customer without wasting the effort of running all over the store. I did my best impersonation of a hurry and shuffled over to the cutting counter.
"I can check for you, but I was just in the back room earlier today and I didn't see any fleece. Are you trying to match something in particular?" From an overstuffed Vera Bradley bag she drew a swatch of quilting cotton.
"I'm trying to match this red flower here." She gave a little huff, "apparently, it's hard to match."
"I think the bright red is definitely closer. Is this for a quilt?"
"Oh, no. I want to upholster my couch with it. This is the fabric I used for making the throw pillows." I glanced at Carol. We'd both heard stranger things. The lady gave me a smirk and elbowed me. "I'm just joking. It's for a quilt."
"Could you use a different backing? We have sweatshirt fleece, and soft and comfy fleece, thin fleece..." I trailed off. "Have you thought of flannel?" I led her over to a short isle in the corner and habitually grabbed two bolts of fleece from the top of a shelf of shirting material. Someone had probably stashed them there earlier. Somewhat hidden behind my armful of fabric, I gestured to all the things I'd mentioned. She seemed content to browse. I turned to leave and walked straight into a pillar of a man who had moved into the isle behind me.
"Ompf." The fabric I'd only barely been holding slipped from my hands and unspooled into a lumpy puddle on the floor. I tried to grab it before it got dirty, apologizing for my clumsiness.
He bent over to help me, muttering. Behind us I heard the lady say, "George, be careful dear!" On my way up with an armful of fabric my head collided with a hanging banner display. I muttered a small curse under my breath. I shook my head trying to clear out the awkwardness and the throbbing pain. I tried to take some of the fabric back from him, but my arms were too full. I walked over to a round display of bridal fabrics and piled the fleece on the top. He tried to put his pile on top as well. Unfortunately, the display I had chosen wasn't well balanced and 5 more bolts of satins and sheers toppled over the back side of the display.
I couldn't help it, a little sarcastic "Great," exited my lips. I dove after a sixth bolt, a taupe chiffon, and but only succeeded in grabbing the edge and making it unspool over the pile like caramel topping on vanilla ice cream. I glanced back at the man, surely he would try to help me pick this all up. I'd already opened my mouth to refuse his help, but he didn't even apologize.
"George? What do you think your mom would think of this?" The man blinked several times at me and turned to walk back to the lady looking at red fabric.
It's not like I wanted his help anyway. Some people are just rude.
After cleaning up the fabrics and securing them to the display I meandered back over to the cutting counter to cover for Carol while she went on her break. While she put some heavy rolls of upholstery fabric on a cart, I wrapped up some fabric remnants with labels to be marked for the discount bins. In hushed tones, I told her of the rude encounter with the tall man.
"You know, some people don't have a proper upbringing at all. They never have to clean up after themselves or anyone and they just don't understand the concept of respect."
"Maybe it makes them feel awkward. He was the essence of awkward." I laughed half-heartedly, glancing around to make sure he wasn't somehow overhearing me. Carol shook her head and headed towards the back room.
I finished rolling up the last remnant and stowed the box under the counter, grabbing a duster to sweep down the surfaces. I glanced at my watch; one hour left. I leaned out to brush a large bit of faux fur off the edge of the counter. My earphone wire caught on a drawer and yanked the ear piece off. I dropped the duster over the edge of the counter.
Tonight is just not my night. At least no one saw that.
I walked around the counter and picked it up. Everything in this store was covered in lint and bits of string. I took a couple of silly swipes at the floor and watched the bits of fur and fluff skitter across the floor.
"Ahem" it was the tall man, right behind me. Again.
"Oh, how can I help you?" A false smile plastered to my mouth.
"I need a 4 yard piece of this." He shoved a bolt of lipstick red flannel at me. I took it from him and walked back around the counter.
"What are you making?" This conversation would have to be textbook because I was still miffed.
"Nothing. It's for my grandma."
"Is there anything else she needs? batting? binding?"
Silence. I looked up and he was looking away at the lady, who was flipping through a book of patterns at a nearby table. "I'll have to ask."
"Well, let me know if there is anything I can get you." I suddenly felt sorry for the woman to have such an impassive grandson as her only shopping companion. I handed the man the slip of paper with the fabric information on it. He nodded at me slightly. It could have been a twitch. But then I noticed his dark brown eyes gazing at me, almost smiling. He tilted his head only slightly, curiously, as though he recognized me from somewhere.
It made my face itch. He lingered a moment too long and then turned sharply and walked away towards the registers. His grandmother followed him shortly, waving at me. "Thank you for all your help!"
The rest of the night passed quickly. I felt my face go hot and then cold as I tried to make sense of how to feel about him looking at me like that. Did I know him from somewhere? George? No. And then his rudeness! Thoughts cycled around in my head while Carol chatted idle gossip about her new boyfriend's ex girlfriends sister's dog that had puppies... The thoughts revolved as I drove home as well. I forgot to shut off the radio in protest of the Dealership-That-Must-Not-Be Named's commercial that played twice in a row. I sat through a green light.
At home, I couldn't focus on studying. I looked at anatomical maps of the muscles of the upper back and thought (rather oddly) of how that man held the piles of fleece I dropped. I fell asleep at my desk thinking about whether or not I would ever see him again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I dreamt that I had started sewing another dress. It was a full ball gown with a periwinkle tulle skirt. I was wandering around the fabric store looking for tiny silver beads that I'd lost. I'd been trying to sew them on to the dress, but they kept rolling away under the displays. As I walked through the store, the tulle swishing around my legs, I could feel the little beads everywhere I walked. They were under my feet pinching and rolling around. I finally slipped and landed on my back looking up at a canopy of fabric that hung the ceiling of the store. And then the tall man's face loomed over me, full of concern at first and then laughing. He was laughing at me, flat on my back in the mess I'd made all over the store. I wanted to get up but my muscles weren't cooperating. He wouldn't help me up.
I woke up several hours later stiff as a Notre Dame gargoyle. I clicked off my lamp and shuffled to the bathroom. My mouth was full of sour fuzzies that the toothpaste only masked. My little sister's alarm would be going off soon; she always forgot to turn it off on the weekend. I dropped my body unceremoniously onto my bed, throwing the blankets over me and melting into my mattress. I would worry about studying tomorrow.
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Seasonal Practice
Seasons change often
but each one is my favorite
a new way to see
Red, white; mostly green
octopus branches with thorns
a late berry crop
Walking through the grass
crickets spring up like popcorn
leaves crunch under foot.
Pumpkin spice is nice
Caramel apples are better
and hot cider mugs...
Rain feels cold, quiet
washing dead leaves down
turning them to stamps.
Sneaky space-stealers
stink bugs try to hibernate
in a clean garage
A clean, earthy smell
hay strewn in a wagon bed
night-time bumpy ride
Pumpkin painting night
music filters through the air
a strange encounter
Big beautiful moon
polyester, velcro mess
children in disguise
A foggy morning
An aging earth with grey hair
first frost quiets life
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Authorship: A Collective Endeavor
I have grown to love writing. It was never something I particularly hated, although I didn't enjoy it to begin with. I did, however, love to read. And it was my reading that inspired me writing. At first, it was just something I did: I wrote to express my feelings. Most of my early stories (in Elementary school) were based off of things that I had read. I wrote reports when I had to, pictures stories when I wanted to.
In fifth grade my teacher gave us a writing assignment every week. On Mondays he would give us the prompt, usually a phrase or idea, and we would have the week to come up with a one page story based off of it. At first I wrote short things, but soon I learned how to change the margins and font size on the word documents so I could fit almost two pages worth of writing onto one page. I guess it was cheating, but I was somewhat of a teacher's pet, so it was okay. At the end of the week we would choose the stories he thought were the most well-written. Being somewhat of a show off, I always spent much longer on it than necessary so that my story would be read aloud each week in class.
I later entered two writing festivals, and won a spot in both. (I should post what I wrote sometime.) I met a girl, who would become one of my very best friends, who also loved writing. And reading. I don't think I've ever met anyone who read so much. She had a way with words, and her stories were so interesting; with their believable characters, strong heroines, sharp humor, smooth dialogue. She showed me how to look at life differently, and then write about it. Together we would swap story and character ideas. Eventually I had to move states.
And then I moved grades. Although I didn't work on a story that I had started, I continued to write poetry. I met more friends who loved art and who helped me discover writing all over again. I quickly grasped that my writing abilities were going to have to snap out of the cliched fantasy I was used to copying. My poetry was going to have to condense from water into delicate sculptures of ice. And all along the way there were teachers and friends that pushed me and uncovered my eyes to the wonders of the written word.
I took a creative writing class with some of my very best friends. We shared our ideas and peered through others' eyes, stumbling in their shoes. My best friend made the most amazing metaphors for things. To read her work was to
take a refreshing swim in a painting and come out a whole new color. Our souls grew into women in that school and we got heady brave with words. Then we climbed the poems and stories and essays to college... and then through.
I have found that writing isn't just something I do for fun anymore; it's wholly necessary, like water or sleep. When I don't write, it's as though I've been wandering for days without looking to see where I'm going. Words are the sun that tells me when to wake up and go faster, when to slow down and sleep. This is one of the reasons I started this blog... it's my mental clock. It's a common misconception that time makes years pass by; but it's actually memories.
I hope to write more stories here, that even if they are never given the breath that blows from turning pages, even if they are never born with a cover or a spine, they can still be enjoyed by you, and by Future Me.
This is a dedication to all of the people who have given pieces of themselves to me. (Thank you.) Chances are you'll see them woven into these stories. Just look for the particularly brilliant phrases.
Friday, September 8, 2017
Rainbow Struck
I
had a dream with a white velvet box.
a creak-snap hinge
and a drop of white gold and diamond
It sparked rainbows in my eyes
and pulled tears down my cheeks.
Memories of a pale dawn, white satin, and infinite mirrors
pull me through stars, bright moon, and oncoming clouds.
It was raining as I woke, him beside me,
and my daughter's bright colored pajamas
Her curly hair, her shining eyes,
her high-pitched, playful banter
in our big, soft bed.
a creak-snap hinge
and a drop of white gold and diamond
It sparked rainbows in my eyes
and pulled tears down my cheeks.
Memories of a pale dawn, white satin, and infinite mirrors
pull me through stars, bright moon, and oncoming clouds.
It was raining as I woke, him beside me,
and my daughter's bright colored pajamas
Her curly hair, her shining eyes,
her high-pitched, playful banter
in our big, soft bed.
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