And Cathie, thank you as well so much for your excellent examples.

Now I know from where I write on this matter, with thanks to all of you!

All my Best,
Claudia

The child grasped at her hand, squeezing the blood into her fingers, crossing them in an unnatural way. As they looked over the dust filled valley across the expanse of future, there wasn’t really anything either of them could say. Neither knew what the next few days would hold. She tried any way. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But I promise to stay with you. I promise to take care of you.” The Child’s eyes said nothing, but the grasp of her hand spoke, and what it said, was more than any child her age should ever have to say.

The child grasped at her hand, squeezing the blood into her fingers, crossing them in an unnatural way. As they looked over the dust filled valley across the expanse of future, there wasn’t really anything either of them could say. Neither knew what the next few days would hold. She tried any way. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But I promise to stay with you. I promise to take care of you. The Child’s eyes said nothing, but the grasp of her hand spoke, and what it said, was more than any child her age should ever have to say.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to hear rustling around at night. And it wasn’t uncommon for him to peek around the corner, long after he was suppose to have been in bed. Father and Mother stayed up late watching The Tonight Show most every night, and they often could be seen laughing and cuddling–even wrestling together on the couch. But this was Christmas Eve. As I inched my way ever so quietly down the steps and around the corner, I caught my first glimpse–not of My Parents, but of My Mother and Santa Clause. THEY were laughing and cuddling and wrestling. And there were gifts everywhere.

It wasn’t until a few years later, that I found the suit. The Red fur-lined suit, and the beard and the black patent leather belt. There had been rumblings around the school yard of Santa not being Real–Of Santa actually being our parents–but I hadn’t believed them. When Bullies tell stories, you just don’t believe them. They’ve ruined their reputation with you, just by being bullies. Why would you believe anything they say?

So now, I find myself in this stinky old, moth-eaten suit. When Father dies, I couldn’t help but hold it to my chest. And even though it wasn’t in good condition, I decided to save it, not realizing then, that I’d actually be wearing it now.

So here, I am, itching like a banshee, and clinging for dear life to the gutter spout on my second floor balcony. You see, the apple never falls far from the tree, and this apple had rolled all the way through the door and straight into the living room, leaving Santa just barely a moment, to release his Mommy and climb out the window.

If this apple stays as close to the tree as I did to mine, then I better invest in a new red suit.

Sitting down on the swing, I grabbed hold of the chains and began pumping my legs. The temperature was warmer than I’d expected. The wind felt wonderful in my hair. I felt free. Just as I had as a child on the swings. I’d pump and pump until the swing was at its highest, and then I’d jump off, to see how far I’d go. It really was a wonder I hadn’t broken a bone as a child. If I tried that today, I’d surely break an ankle. The air felt crisp. In just two short days, I’d be off on the Charter boats with pen and paper, and computer–ready to compile information. But for now, I’ll breathe, and tomorrow I’ll begin unpacking. Tomorrow.

They had traded cars for the day, so that he could get a load of firewood. Driving his car was an entirely different experience. Driving his car felt like entering a hotel room. Everything in its place– for as long as she’d known him: in the glovebox: Armorall–for those spare moments he might have between sales appointments, to keep his car looking new. in the side pocket of the driver’s side door–a package of Certs–He was addicted to Retsin–and a little pot of Carmex Lip ointment. He was always prepared. A few pens, and some business cards, and a tire gauge. Nothing else-ever.

Until today. Reaching into the door pocket to get the package of mints, she dropped them on the floor. When she stopped for the first red light, she reached underneath the seat for the package. But that’s not what she found. Under the seat was a CD. A Rap CD. How on God’s Magnificent Earth, could they have been married for 15 years, and she not know he listened to rap? When they had met in college It was Steely Dan. Steely Dan. Steely Dan. A bit of The Eagles here and there. A sprinkling of Marshall Tucker Band. But that had been the extent of it. Her own taste in music had evolved. She had embraced his music, yes. But she also had retained her own sense of self. He, on the other hand had never let on that his interests had wavered. He’d never shown her any inkling of evolution. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for him–She was. She had always wished he’d break free from that IBM image–so rigid, so predictable. It made her kind of wonder what other secrets he held–whether he really was desirous of something more. To be free–for once from that image that was written, so long ago–prepared for him, well before he ever had the ability to discount it.

And now he was at the door. And the CD was on the floor. The cue ball was in motion, and the 8 ball was right at his feet.

While he slept, she washed his body with tea tree oil soap, and dabbed him–blotted him dry with a towel she planned on disposing of completely. Next she took the bottle that the doctor had given her, and applied it generously to a cotton ball dabbing the blisters, some of them oozing. Covering him now with a towel, she gathered up everything that had touched him and disposed of them in ziplock bags. She slowly untwisted the wire around his wrists, and disposed of it as well. Although, she was not allergic herself, she showered off now, making sure that there would be no residue of that terrible oil of that terrible ivy. Lying down by his side, she settled herself in,taking one last sigh, hopeful that her efforts would lessen his discomfort, and that he would somehow consider hiking the Appalachian Trail with her again.