Current favourite

A short story

Two years ago, I was unemployed. Out of sheer boredom I wrote this. I will appreciate  your thoughts.

 

Do you think she is going to tell her?
Maybe…
Are you in trouble?
Maybe. Who cares! She already knows anyway.
Shock!
Desiree told her already.
And?
I told her she is being vindictive because I dumped her.
And she was happy with that?
For a while, until she asked me if I’d date a black girl.
A moment passes. She yields.
And what did you say to that Dave?
I told her that there is more to life than race or racism of whatever it is that she is obsessed with.  And I asked is she has ever been inlove?
Whoa! Thin ice Dave, thin ice.
I know. She sneered, shot me a killer look and pouted.
You know you are gonna be responsible if she has heart problems don’t you?
Oh well…
The conversation drifts to less heart rending topics like traffic, weather and work. They find their favorate spot, a cliff overlooking the wild coast beach. When he first brought her here she was nervous. A desert place with no sign of life except for the sea, the shrubs and beautiful curved (natural) stones.  Today she brought a mat. Calm and restful they sit infront of the car facing the beach.  Him with his beer, she with her thoughts.
 
SHE SAYS
 
I ask him why he drinks so much. He looks at me with pursed lips, smiles, shakes his head and takes another sip. There is deep seated sadness in his eyes.  I have seen it so many times. I have actually discussed this with Miki long before we even dated. We joked that he might have killed and buried someone with anyone knowing. 
What attracted me to this dark white young man?
His looks? Because he was pretty damn fine.
His kasie white man lifestyle? He spoke isiZulu with a bit of isiXhosa, (he calls it Dave taal)which made him pretty likable to my friends. I think he must have mentioned growing up in a farm in Kokstad, or was it my imagination?
Was it his dark personality? Was I drawn to this sad young boy? Sometimes he would be here but the darkness in his eyes will show that he is miles away. In those instances, like now, you would not know whether to drag him out of that dungeon or just let him wallow for a while. Maybe it gave him some kind of satisfaction, who knows?
In my thoughts I hadn’t realised that I had moved to his lap and was now caressing his arm. In a split second he came back, promptly stood up and said “let’s go, its getting late”.
We get into the car. He immediately hits the accelerator.  Its nine pm and the speed needle is touching 220km/hr. I beg him to slow down. He gives me that knee weakening smile and steps on it some more.  By some kind of Devine intervention we get to my place. My cheeks are soaked in tears, my hands are soaked and shaking.
He cups my face and kissed my tears. I jump off the car and race to the door, willing very hard to hate him. After locking I hear the car screeching away. I head straight to bed and cry myself to sleep.
At about 6am I have to go to the bathroom. I am about to climb back to bed when I decide to check my cellphone. An sms reads “home safe, love you”.

 

HE SAYS
She is like a balm for my aching heart. Yes, my heart is sore and I don’t know why. Maybe I do, but going there, maybe it will kill me all over again. Yep, I thought I was dead but I’m still here. Receiving love I clearly do not deserve.
She is the sweetest thing although I fear that I might contaminate her with my bitterness. Can such innocence be touched though? I need her. I would never be able to survive without her. Wait, how did I survive all these years. Maybe I was in waiting of something I could not even define. That must have sustained me.  
Does a balm have to know the sickness it treats? I don’t think so. (Gospel according to Dave).
I will not contaminate her. I made a decision although not discussed it with her. I will not touch her as long as I can. And if holding out proves too much I will find other means.
She is my balm, my innocent naïve balm. The race issue, I’m not even willing to entertain. My mother will have to get used to it. As for her friends, it is none of their business, period.
She hates my excessive drinking. And letting her know why will mean telling her about the pain. I know she sees it, but telling her would be a whole different story.  When the thought that its not gonna last haunts me, the pain shoots like a javelin and I have to drink.
I know my father would have liked her. He would have had reservations of course at first. But I know that he would have like her once he had gotten to know her. I mean, what there not to like?
I try to imagine growing old with her, but the picture gets dark and dingy. What if she meets someone who is willing to go all the way, marriage, kids, the works. I think I need a drink.

 

SHE SAYS
 
We are at his mother’s funeral. The mood is meant to be somber and quiet. I am suppressing a need to shout and celebrate. This after all is the woman who lived to torture me. She banned me from coming to the house that I now have to pretend to know every corner. Somehow I know it had nothing to do with the colour of my skin. Sometimes I could see that young widow who lost her husband to war. That glimmer of bitterness mixed with self-pity. No he did not die, their marriage did. He came back a different person, his zest for life somehow removed and hatred burning like fire with sulphur replaced it. A story I’m still to be told because its always said to be long and gory.
 
 The sense of guilt over the triumphant feeling makes me restless. This after all is the mother of the love of my life. It has always been the two of them against the world. Now, she is gone. He looks lost, like a puppy woken up from a deep slumberous sleep by a banging cold, a sign that mom is gone.
 
So, I compose myself. There is a lot to be done and decisions to support.  For the first time I feel what my husband always feels in our family gathering. But my oddity is two-fold, the never accepted daughter in-law and the only black face in the family. Others want to like me but do not know how (an act of rebellion?), others do not want me here and make their point as clear. Of course there is the younger generation who are fascinated by the whole debacle.
Suddenly everyone is gone. I am standing in kitchen preparing supper. My husband and his uncle are talking softly in the living room. The rest of the house is quiet and gloomy. How do you suddenly take charge of another woman’s territory without her presence or permission. Is she not supposed to guide you as to where you will find the kettle? How her oven takes a tad longer to warm? How she like to keep her bottled stuff here and perishables there because this corner is more humid than the other.
I’m here now, so the show must go on…

 

It has been a while…

I am clearing my mail once again, found this oldie. I had apparently sent to my niece to access and give verdict.

 

I try
Like a dog lured by a bone
I hope
chase but never get to taste
I turn
A corner hoping it will be the last
I run
Seeing an open door, only to find it locked
I tarry
But have no choice but to try again
I fall
Get up with renewed hope
I see
A light and make a run for it
I stop
I’m not there yet
But for how long

 

 

 

 

that moment

when the mind connect

to the soul

that split second

when spirit man speaks

no inhibitions

that moment of light(ness)

a ray, sunbeam

a spring in step

that window

to perfection

For All Those Silenced Voices

Speak son, speak

Tell it, tell it like it is

Do not fear

Spare no bounds

Let rip!

 

Raise your voice and say it

Refuse to be silenced

Regret is a scar of shame

vigilance has banner named courage

 

Talk son, talk

Do not be ashamed

Let the mountains, hills, valleys hear you

Let the echo ripple through the four winds

Sound the gong

For the time is upon us!

 

 

Ok I probably went a little too crazy…

Pity Party

Pity Party

Petty Matter

Pouring Ponder

Pairing Pins

Pounding Patterns

 

Pulpitations…

Sounding reason

Reasoning sound

Pity Party

 

No one is invited

 

This is an old poem. There is no pity party here…

How beautiful is this…

A WOMAN’S WEEK AT THE GYM

 I’m deleting old emails- dating from 2005. Found this gem – thought I should share.
   
If you read this without laughing out loud, there is something wrong with you. This is dedicated to everyone who ever attempted to get into a regular workout routine
 
   
Dear Diary,
 For my birthday this year, my husband purchased for me a week of personal training at the local health club.
 Although I am still in great shape since being a high school football cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.
 I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear.
 Friends seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.
 ________________________________
 MONDAY:
 Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god– with blond hair, dancing eyes, and a dazzling white smile.  Woo Hoo!!
 Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines.. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring!
 Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!
 ________________________________
 TUESDAY:
 I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door.  Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it!  My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile.  His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT!  It’s a whole new life for me.
 _______________________________
 WEDNESDAY:
 The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it.  I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals.  Driving was OK as long as I didn’t try to steer or stop.
Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members..  His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying.
 My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster.  Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators?  Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life.  He said some other shit too.
 _______________________________
 THURSDAY:
 As&#hole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl.  I couldn’t help being a half an hour late– it took me that long to tie my shoes.
 He took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom.  He sent some skinny b&#tch to find me.
 Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine– which I sank.
 _________________________________
 FRIDAY:
 I hate that ba#&tard Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic, little aerobic instructor.  If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it.
 Christo wanted me to work on my triceps.  I don’t have any triceps!  And if you don’t want dents in the floor, don’t hand me the damn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.
 The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher.  Why couldn’t it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?
 ________________________________
 SATURDAY:
 Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today.  Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my planner; however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel..
 ________________________________
 SUNDAY:
 I’m having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over.  I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun– like a root canal or a hysterectomy.  
 
I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!!

bureau-oh-crazy

red-tape

navy  suits

brown boots

dull and dreary

 

‘do you have it on paper m’am’

signed in our blue ink?

black and white

no grays

all dyed

and perished

in our bureau-oh-crazy

 

boundaries set

lines drawn

order, authority

rules rule!

no room for personality

saving our bureau-oh-crazy

 

bureau-oh-crazy

thou art our slothful master!

no care, no dare

straight line

no whine

stand straight

legs firm

in our bureau-oh-crazy

gods of this world

they stand on street corners

with their wears and wealth

a pound of flesh, a box of gold

red ink blood

beneath the flashes

gasping bodies

fighting for life

 

offers they make

dreams come true

they say

bags full of souls

they brag

‘no power is as big as mine’

 

comparing blood drops

‘my spoils are more fresh’

more recent

for it is  the scent

 that tells

the power of wealth