Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Wordless Wednesday Easter Edition









Monday, April 21, 2014

Fighting For


My first attempt at Gargleblaster Challenge. One Prompt. Forty-two words.


This week we’re paying tribute to Gabriel García Márquez, who was (in our humble opinion) one of the greatest writers of the last century. This week’s ultimate question comes to us from One Hundred Years of Solitude:
“Tell me something, old friend: why are you fighting?”
For the babies.
For the ones without voices.
For the ones who will never go home again.
For the bruised, the broken, the starved.
For the ones whose screams have been extinguished too soon.
I must ask-
Why are you not fighting?


Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Double Wide

Walking toward the double wide trailer I see the black spray painted words still cover the right side..near the door that doesn't open. The door that has no steps to climb. I wonder if they will fade as the months pass and when summer sun shines down.

She stands on the wooden porch steps with a cigarette in her hands...three giant black trash bags overflowing behind her. The two older ones, a boy and girl, are hanging out of the now open kitchen window. They are shouting my name and proudly thrusting their giant ice cream treats in my face. She waves her Hello Kitty one that resembles a pink and white alien blob so close that I could lick it. He has Batman--which is at least recognizable--and the greatest treasure he has ever had.

The ice cream man came by last night she says.

They all kept crying and screaming and I just wanted them to shut up she tells me.

Taking a puff from her cigarette and exhaling.

The little ones are in the tub she tells me. I know they are ok because they can watch each other.

She is talking about her youngest boys. They are one and three.

She admits that she isn't good at bath time. She forgets for a week or two at a time she tells me. It's hard with five kids. 

As I follow her inside she launches into a list of Mexican home remedies. Vicks Vapor rub will fix anything I'm told. She apologizes for not having had time to clean up before I arrived.

Seeing the blue plaid comforter spread out across the floor littered with pillows and potato chip crumbs, I ask if they had a movie night camp out.

No, this is where we sleep she says. My fiancee and I on the floor, a younger boy on each of the sagging green couches and the baby in his crib in the corner of the living room. The older two sleep in their own rooms---most of the time-she adds. 

Just beyond the long narrow hallway are three bedrooms. I know this because I've been here many times before. There are new bunkbeds in each of the children's rooms. A local agency provided them complete with brightly colored sheets when they got their kids back. 

As I find an empty space on the couch to sit, the kids climb into my lap like eager puppies. 

Where do I even start?







**This is a glimpse into my work day and part of a free write exercise for the fabulous Just Write hosted by Heather.