Okay. I'm sorry, guys. Sometimes I worry that in my journal I freak too much, that I'm bringing you down. Because of that and because I just can't handle it, I didn't talk about this episode when it happened a few weeks ago. But it's in there, it's gotta get out. It's just the dirt that's already there.
So I'm going to post the drabble, and I'll whitefont it in case you want to skim. Upsetting child story. But that's one of the things the drabbles are for, for me. So.
Oh, and it's closer to 200 words than 100, but I just gotta get it out. I shredded the first version, and it probably said better what I feel. Anyway.
The Difference A Year Makes
Our big white van pulled up outside your house and you, with your brother and sister, came running before we even honked the horn. Hair flying, precious folder of piano music tucked under your arm, you were chattering before you hit the seat.
(Your parents went on another drug binge and locked you out of the house. You wandered around the neighborhood for hours in the freezing cold, trying to protect the baby, shepherding your terrified younger siblings.)
The last time I saw you, you came bounding to hug me. You told me you'd been practicing, and could I bring you another copy of "America, the Beautiful."
(You were living with your grandmother then, hopeful, but it wasn't the first or the last time you'd been shuffled in and out of state custody.)
I didn't have to ask why when they told me. When did you learn to tie a rope into a noose? It must have been somewhere between twelve and thirteen. Your little sister, she'll learn sooner because she walked in on your second attempt.
(Now you're in a mental institution somewhere, and all I can think is, it's got to be better than this.)
::short descending whistle::
Ouch. Vivid. I hope getting it out helps.
Oh, Liese. That's horrible.
Ouch.
I'm still glad I read it though.
Oh my Liese.
Also, what you do is so important. You contribute joy to people's lives. Thank you.
Sail, that was very clever. Love it.
Deb, I especially like the Bryan Adams drabble -- it reads like lyrics to me.
Liese, that was tough, but gorgeous. So raw and honest.
Here's my last-minute entry. A hundred words exactly, but it could be so much longer...
Challenge #53: One Year
It was going to be an adventure, we told four-year-old Jake. It was going to be all right, we told the cat, doped and swaying in his cage in the backseat. We told each other it wouldn’t have to be forever.
We left behind the traffic-choked highways and cheek-by-jowl neighborhoods of New Jersey for a whistle-stop town in northern Wyoming, and a house nestled against the county fairgrounds. The heavy scent of sugar beets hung in the air; gun racks took a place of honor in every truck. We were outsiders, not above suspicion.
We lasted there just one year.
Loving all the drabbles. Liese, that one was - ouch. I hope it helped you to write it out - I know it helps me.
I must confess, this entry was inspired by Amy's - in a sort of "exact opposite" kind of way.
One Year Contract
It was a one year contract. She would go to this tiny Northern town and exist for one year only, take the job for the money and the experience and then move back to the real world, the big city, where real people lived.
Except the summer nights were so long and light and had colours she had never seen before. She had not known rocks and water could be both harsh and haunting. The snow-covered landscape seen from the sky was foreign, but comforting. The winter nights were cold and long, but lit with magical hues dancing in the sky.
It was the realest place she had ever been. Eight years later, she is not sure she will ever leave.
Squeezing one in under the wire.....
June 30, 1812
The sage green dress brings out her eyes. Simple, high-necked, and long-sleeved, it’s only a morning dress. But not a mourning dress. At last.
One year. Passion and joy, a parting that broke her. Blood on her hands and a near-brush with death. A son whose origins she’ll conceal, so she can keep him by her and give him everything.
If she dreams nightly, if she doesn’t know which are worse, the nightmares or the ones that leave her shaking with need and raging at the emptiness of her bed, what of it? The year is over, and her life is before her.
