Under The Ashes

         Strong winds pushed the billowing black smoke across the dry hills, flames licked at the heels of the dark cloud. The horizon blazed in colors of orange and red, transforming the sun from its customary bright yellow to flaming crimson. From her front porch Betty watched as ash fell softly on her green lawn leaving black snow covered grass and shrubs.

            “It’s far away I don’t think we’re in any danger,” Betty whispered to herself, but just to be on the safe side she got her important papers together and set them by the front door. She walked through the house admiring family pictures she had collected through the years remembering the day they were taken, the children so young, her blond hair not streaked with gray. Her old Labrador lay on his bed on the patio, his black fur covered with a blanket of ash. The pool was dark and still with a thick layer of dead pine needles floating on the once blue water.  She was worried the giant Redwood might catch fire if live ash fell, so she walked to the back of the property to make sure it was alright, (too far from the house to hear the phone.) She was thinking about the coyotes, rabbits and squirrels that would make their way down the mountain, unless they got burned along with all the trees. The air felt hot as though the sun was too close to the earth. She could feel the heat on her back. The smoke was getting heavier. Her lungs ached with each breath. Betty had called her daughter to pick up the baby early. She didn’t want him breathing in all this smoke. She shivered in the heat as a sense of doom swept over her like a cold wind… the hair on her arms stood on end. She turned on her heels back toward the house in time to hear the sound of shattering glass. Flames danced on the roof, smoke poured from broken windows, fire made its way through her home seemingly joyous with the new found fuel.                       

 Betty took a towel from the fence and wet it in the pool covering her head as she ran. Holding her breath she ran blindly through the burning house led by instinct and memory to the

baby’s room. The first floor was in flames, but hadn’t reached the stairs; Betty cleared two steps at a time till she reached the landing. The door to the baby’s room was hot as she pushed it open.

Grabbing a blanket she wet it in the tub before wrapping her grandson and heading back toward the stairs. She stood at the landing and watched as the flames curled around the railings. It was too far to jump; she would have to run through the fire. She ran back and got another blanket wet to wrap around herself then went as fast as she could down the burning stairs. Her dog was barking wildly at the back door. She couldn’t see through the smoke, but ran toward the familiar sound. Her eyes watered, her lungs were empty; she knew she had to get out fast.  Her faithful old dog continued to bark as she made her way to the patio door. She could feel the flames crawling up the edge of the blanket; she ran to the pool and jumped in rising quickly then rushing to the far side of the property. Her grandson coughed as she laid him on the ground quickly removing the blanket. Tears streamed down his soft cheeks. Betty lifted him to her shoulder worried he had inhaled too much smoke, but he opened his eyes and gave her a big smile.

            “We made it little one.” Tears of relief spilled over her face as she smothered the baby in kisses. “We’ll be okay.”                                                                                                                         

 The wind had changed, moving the fire down hill. Betty held the baby tight against her breast as she watched the rest of her house fall leaving black timbers, hot embers and ruin.  Squirrels jumped from the Redwood to the pepper tree chattering a warning as they made their way through the branches. Soon all was still.  Betty stared across the flat space where her house once stood, where roses once bloomed, memories were made and children raised.  A coyote approached and rested on the other side of the chain link fence panting in the heat. 

Each sat in silence, not knowing where to go or what to do. Her life was saved by a barking dog, the coyote’s by instinct.  Betty waited until she saw her daughter’s car barreling up the street screeching to a halt at the blackened driveway. Betty and the coyote stood facing each other before each turned, walking slowly in opposite directions. They would both start over; both make new homes, new lives and new memories. The coyote stopped before he reached the end of the fence turning his head to face Betty, a question in his sad eyes.                                                                                                                                                   

“I know how you feel, old boy. You’ll be okay.”

Can't Trust a Monday

             I had hoped to be settled down by the time I reached the Coffee Shack, but I was still fuming as I stood in the doorway looking for a vacant chair. The place was busy for a Monday morning, there was only one seat left at the small counter.

                                                                                                                           

             “I guess this will have to do,” I thought as I squeezed in. My mind still racing from the drive over.

            “That guy nearly ran me off the road,” I muttered as I slipped my sweater and purse over the chair. Thinking better of it, I moved my purse between my feet. “Better safe than sorry,” I whispered. The man next to me turned slightly.

            “Yes, I know, sometimes I talk to myself.”                                                                               

             He didn’t say a word, just grunted and went back to his paper. Annoyance shot out from him like electricity.                                                                                                         

           “Well, excuuuse me,” I thought.

            “Grunt.”

            “Damn, I have to stop talking to myself.”

            “Grunt.”

            “Did I say that out loud?”

            “Grunt.”

            Holding my hand over my mouth I thought,

             “Do I need medical attention?” The man gave no response so I knew I hadn’t said that out loud!

            My coffee was delivered and I folded my newspaper into a small square, so I could work the crossword puzzle. The man bumped my shoulder as he refolded his paper.

            “Don’t worry about me,” I thought, “I’ll just scoot over.”

            “Grunt.”

            “Damn.”

            “Grunt.”

            I brought my coffee cup to my mouth to make sure I didn’t speak out loud and thought,

            “I have got to stop talking to myself.” I was surprised when my coffee bubbled under my lips. The man didn’t grunt, so I knew I was okay as I thought,

            “So I blow bubbles in my coffee, I’m sure that’s not so odd.”

            “Grunt.”

            I kept my eyes on my crossword and my arms tight to my sides, but I could feel his eyes on me. I’d had just about enough for one morning, so I turned to give him a piece of my mind, what was left of it anyway, and watched as he picked my sweater up off the floor and hung it back on the chair.

             “Thank you,” I said.

            “Grunt.”                                                                                                                       

             Getting a better look at him, I thought I had seen him before.

            “Do you drive a black BMW?” I asked tartly. I was sure he was the man who almost ran me off the road. My eyes were tiny slits as I glared at him.

            “Grunt.”

            “I’m talking to you!”                                                                                                                

            He laid his paper down, “I wasn’t sure you were talking to me or to yourself,” He said with a twinkle in his eye.

            “Well, do you?” My hands were starting to sweat, but I wasn’t going to back down.

            “Sorry, you were between me and my morning coffee. How about I buy you some breakfast?”  Surprisingly, my mind was a blank.

            “Accept my apology over some bacon and eggs?”  He added.

             My brain went all fuzzy as I pondered, “Your eyes are the deepest blue.” A slow smile spread across his face.

             “Damn,” I thought. His smile deepened. I could feel my face redden. Not wanting to embarrass myself any further I bit down on my tongue, held my lips tightly together and thought,

            “I’ll bet you’re used to always getting your own way.” He raised his left eyebrow like a dark brown question mark rising above his tanned skin. Keeping my lips tightly closed, I picked up my crossword puzzle, grabbed my pencil and turning my back to him I boldly replied,

            “Grunt.”

             

At The Mall with Mom

 I knew there wasn’t much time when I heard Lady Gaga blasting from the store speakers.

           “Why do they have it so loud?” My mom moaned, “Where’s the manager? They have to turn this down.” She went looking for the sound patrol while I hurried to the racks of dresses. I quickly chose three, wishing there weren’t so many pastels. I mean really, who wears yellow to the winter formal? After my third trip to the racks I was surprised my Mom wasn’t calling my name through the store, that’s what  usually happens when she loses sight of me, like I would get lost or stolen. I told her no one would be able to kidnap me at sixteen and I hardly ever get lost anymore, but she wasn’t satisfied.  All my friends go shopping without their moms, but not me, mine insists on tagging along,

           “I don’t want you hanging around the mall, it isn’t safe.”

          “But mom,” I plead, “I’ll be with Sally and Jane.”

          “Well, they can come along; we have plenty of room in the car.”

          “They don’t want to come along, they have their own car…everyone has their own car. No one goes shopping with their Mom.”

          “I know dear,” was always her reply.

          I quickly return the dresses and grab three more. My luck is holding, my mom is nowhere to be seen.  I decide on the black strapless knowing I would have to talk her into it, but was sure I could. As I was dressing, I could hear someone singing along with the music, “How embarrassing,” I mumbled as I handed the unwanted dresses to the sales girl. She gave me a thin smile and I tried to remember if I knew her.  I left the dressing room aware she was staring after me. I turned back and asked,

          “Do you go to my school?” She continued hanging up dresses and replied,

          “No.”

           Justin Bieber was blasting from the speakers with the same lady singing along,

          “Not bad,” I think, “She has a nice voice.” I glance around the store, now curious as to who is singing. I leave my dress at the counter; the cashier gives me the same thin smile I got from the girl in the changing room. I’m beginning to feel awkward. I turn away thinking,

           “I need to get out of here.” I decide to find my mom. As I walk to the back of the store I notice other customers looking around shaking their heads. I feel embarrassed for whoever is singing along with Justin.

           I turn left at the last rack of clothes and understand why I was getting weird looks from the sales girls, the singing customer was…my mom…she was singing and bouncing to the music as she looked at dresses. I’m so embarrassed I don’t know what to do. My mind is racing. I try and formulate an escape plan,

          “I’ll wait for her in the car,” is my first thought, “I’ll call and tell her I couldn’t find her or a dress so I went to the car.”

          But, I know if I leave the store I won’t get my dress. If I make her mad, I won’t get my dress. If I ignore her, I won’t get my dress. A small crowd gathers, including the cashier and the dressing room girl; we all just stand there staring at my mom, who is oblivious to anything but the music.  I’m hoping for a small earth quake or amnesia, anything to get me out of this. I would even settle for the mall catching on fire. My face is hot and I know my ears must be bright red.                                                        

          I hear someone behind me mutter,

          “Mother’s are so weird.” And I know this is true, mother’s are, but for some reason this comment makes me mad. Its one thing for me to be embarrassed by my mom, but no one can be embarrassed for me. I’m filled with an unusual sensation and wonder if this is how my mom feels when someone has been mean to me or snubs me. I feel the need to defend her. I suddenly realize that no matter how angry I get with her, no matter how often she tells me no, in times of trouble she is always the first one at my side. I wish I had her carefree spirit, she doesn’t care that people are watching, it doesn’t even occur to her, she’s happy and singing along with the music. I feel proud that she’s so brave, I wish I wasn’t so concerned with what people think of me and more concerned with what I think of me.

          I’m still embarrassed, my ears are still red, but I want to be with my mom. I leave the side lines calling back over my shoulder to the audience,

          “Well, at least she knows all the words.”

         

At The Luncheon

Soon after being sworn in as the 44^th President, Obama will have his first lunch hosted by the Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies at the historic Statuary Hall at the US Capitol. The following is a conversation between two women on the wait staff as they set up the room for lunch.

            “I’ve heard it said he’s going to help the poor.” Sally stood facing the head table.

            “Good, maybe I’ll finally get that pony I’ve always wanted. Hand me that vase and smooth out that corner, there can’t be any wrinkles.” Martha replied as she darted between tables.

            “Have you heard him speak? His voice is so soothing, like being dipped in warm honey.” Sally whispered.

            “Give me a break. I guess he got your vote. If you can’t work and talk at the same time don’t talk. We have to get the room ready. The Inauguration starts soon and if we aren’t finished, heads will roll and I don’t want it to be mine.”

            “Will we be able to watch?” Sally carefully fluffed the linen.

            “If we get finished we can watch it in the kitchen. May as well, all the other staff will be in there. If they get their work done that is.” Martha gave Sally a stern look.

            “This is an historic day, the first President of color,” Sally said dreamily. 

            “Their all the same color once they get in office.”

             “I’m glad he has kids. It brings him closer to the concerns of the people.”

             “So you think the rich know how the poor feel? What their needs are? What it feels like to be hungry?”

            “I doubt you’ve ever gone hungry. He says he’s on the side of the people.”

            “That’s what they all say.” Martha replied sarcastically.

            “But he’s going to make health care available and create new jobs and help the economy.”

            “If you tell me you think he can walk on water, I’ll throw up. Bring those extra napkins and table cloths and let’s go to the kitchen.”

            “I want you to take a picture of me in the room where he will eat his first meal after being sworn in.” Sally removed a small camera from her uniform pocket.

            “Are you serious?”

            “Here.” Sally handed the camera to Martha then stood by the head table.

            “Okay, let’s hurry it’s about to start.”

            “So you are excited.”

            “I’ll give him a chance. Why not? I doubt he could be any worse than any of the others. We’ll know who he really is soon enough, for better or worse.”

            “Doesn’t Michelle look beautiful? Her skin looks golden. That dress is a perfect color for her.” 

            “Who wouldn’t look good in a Versace? There’s usually more to people than what they show you. It’s the unspoken agenda’s that worry me. We’ll see.”

            “It’s happening, he’s being sworn in. He sure is lean and tall. He has such a strong voice I could listen to him all day. Michelle sure is lucky and those girls. Can you imagine having him for a father?”

            “Good grief!”

            “He must be so happy right now. What book is he laying his hand on? It looks really old.”   

            “Oh, that’s a book written over 2,000 years ago about another man, only that man really can walk on water.”

Trapped

Marda secured the lock before pressing her back against the cold hard steel door. The gray bathroom stalls were scribbled with notes. Every available inch was covered; the only saying missing was “Eat at Joe’s.” The dingy ceiling had paper wads, gum and she didn’t want to know what else, stuck to the peeling paint.

            “Come on out Marda. You really need to try this,” Marda’s sister Rosetta whispered through the crack in the door. “Don’t make me crawl on this dirty floor.”

            She was right about that, the floor was disgusting. “Leave me alone then,” Marda hissed.

            “You’ll be really glad you did this. It’s difficult the first time, but it gets easier the more you do it. It doesn’t hurt.”

            Marda didn’t believe it for a minute. She knew once she started she would have to use it every day. “I don’t want to start. I’m too young.” Marda was infuriated she let herself get trapped.

            “Fourteen is not too young. Everyone is using it; you’ll be the only one.”

            “Yeah, the only smart one. I need to get to class the bell is going to ring in five minutes.”

            “That’s plenty of time. Come on, I’ll help you.”

            “I’m not like you. I don’t want to be like you. Why did you wait until we got to school?”

            “I can’t corner you at home. And besides, mom’s there.”

            “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

            “Don’t be a baby. Come on out. We need to get this done before the bell.”

            Marda looked down at her feet. She was glad she wore tennis shoes; she thought if she opened the door really fast she could shove her sister out of the way and make it to the door before she got up off the floor. “I know I’m stronger,” Marda thought as she visualized the escape in her head.

            “Shirley is with me.”

            “Oh, great,” Marda mumbled to herself. Shirley weighed about 150lbs. and was six feet tall. “I’ll never get passed her.”

            “Why is she here?” Marda asked.                                

            “To help.”

            “Help ruin my first day of high school?”

            “It’s not like that, really. It won’t hurt you to try it. If you decide it’s not right for you I won’t pressure you, I promise, but it will give you a lot of confidence. I know its hard being a freshman.”

            “You really promise? If I don’t like it, I don’t have to use it ever again?”
            “I promise.”

            Marda could hear Rosetta’s giggle. She opened the door slowly. Rosetta and Shirley were standing side by side. There was no escape.

            “Let’s get this over with. I hate you, you know.” Marda hissed.

            Rosetta put her arm across Marda’s shoulder as she handed her a new tube of black mascara. “This will make your big brown eyes really stand out.”

           

           

And Still They Danced (A poem)

Music floated on evening’s breeze

Their love still young, their hearts still free

Each turn on the floor a memory.

Violins filled the room with stringed bliss

He held her hand and kissed her wrist

She smiled and blushed as though it was rare

As she ran fingers through silvered hair.

Their faces aglow in candle light

They danced and twirled into the night

He pulled her close and whispered, “My Dear,

Think not of tomorrow when today is here.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek

He brushed it off and whispered, “My Sweet…

Skies that cloud will soon be clear

And we will see the sun draw near.”

Gazing into his eyes so blue   

she whispered… “My love…” He whispered… “Me too.”

And on they danced and on they whirled…

Just one boy and just one girl.

The Good Ship Confidence 1638

Augustine Bearce, my relative on Mother’s side, was born in a Gypsy camp just outside London. He sailed to Massachusetts on the Good Ship Confidence in 1638. He was twenty years old. He went to Barnstable, MA in 1639 with the first company of settlers. His settlement placed him in the midst of the Wampanoag villages on the Cape. He married Mary Hyanno at the Mattaches village of Cummaquid (Barnstable). Mary was the daughter of Iyannough and granddaughter of Highyannough. With this relationship Augustine gained large amounts of land in the area. His home still stands and is believed to be the oldest in what is now Centerville, MA. Augustine and Mary had eleven children. Their son James, married Experience Howland, whose family came to the New World on the Mayflower. Those are the facts. The voyage maybe went something like this:

          Augustine didn’t know on which day they lost sight of land. He spent most of his time trying not to fall down as he made his way to the side of the ship to throw up. He wasn’t alone at the railing; most of the other passengers joined him. His nausea lessened about the same time he got his sea legs. Augustine had made an agreement with the Captain to work his way across the ocean to the new world. The Captain was kind enough to wait until the sea sickness past before assigning him his duties. Gypsies weren’t well received, even on a ship, and he was always trying to avoid a beating. One day he decided to carry a club under his shirt and when a crew member swung at him, Augustine hit him over the head. Twice. He didn’t have much trouble after that. He wished he had thought of it sooner.

          He was busy from sunup to sun down. There were decks to swab, chamber pots to empty, food to prepare and dishes to wash. The only domestic animals on board were cats, which helped keep the rat situation somewhat under control. There were cows, chickens and goats. The cows dried up within the first week, but the chickens were laying and nothing bothered the goats.

          The only free time Augustine had was last light and break of day. On calm mornings, the water looked like sheets of blue shimmering glass. He stood at the bow scanning the water.

          “Let me see you one more time,” he whispered. As though they heard, the whales rose like giant mountains, their wet skin shining with streaks of blues and yellows; they looked like floating rainbows. Each slap of their enormous tails sent water across the deck before they plunged again into the deep. Augustine could have moved away from the railing, but enjoyed the whale’s waltz more than wanting to stay dry; he hadn’t been dry since he boarded ship.

           Augustine was used to the fog of London, but the fog at sea cloaked the ship with misty vapors so dense it was suffocating.  The whale’s mournful call floated over the still water like a whispered echo. The muted sails embraced the trembling resonance within its limp damp folds as though trying to catch a breath.

          With the seas dreaded calm, the ship sat helplessly on the still water. Sometimes days would pass in quiet desperation. Serenity became the enemy. Eventually, prayers were answered and the passengers would cheer as the wind caressed the sails. The first day land was sighted Augustine was standing at the bow. His heart fluttered at the first sight on his new home.

          “I hope the Indians are friendly,” he thought.

       

1639 One Year Later   

John Lothrop was ordained in the Church of England, but renounced his orders in 1623 to join the Independents. Disagreements over Baptism were the main issues. Complete immersion or sprinkling? Baptize when babies or adults? He spent time in jail, but was granted a pardon if he left England. He arrived in New England in 1634. In 1639 he moved his church to Barnstable. Augustine went with him. Those are the facts. Maybe it went something like this:

          The long beach grass quivered in the light wind as Augustine walked along the shore admiring the wild flowers last burst of color before the embrace of winter’s white cape. He sat on a sand dune running his hands through the soft grains watching them fall slowly through his fingers, each grain of sand a story, each small pebble an event. He was thinking about all that had occurred since he arrived in New England. Before the first year ended he had changed his name to Austin, discovered he was good at farming and was shunned by all the young girls because he was a gypsy. Austin wanted to marry, but now that it was out of the question he had determined to accept his fate… that is, until he saw a certain Indian girl. Her name was Mary Hyanno, she was fifteen and an Indian Princess. Austin had noticed her the first day they arrived in Barnstable. He saw her now walking toward him.

          Her delicate nose had a splash of small freckles across her white skin. Her long red hair cascaded down a slender back. Austin had never seen anyone so beautiful.  He stood as she approached. Unsure she would understand, he spoke, “I would not have known you are Indian but for your clothes.”

          “My father calls me Little Dove,” She replied in near perfect English.

          “Rightly so. You are fair and speak well.”

          “Your people wanted to teach me their religious customs and I wanted to learn English. It was a just arrangement.”

          She sat on the sand, Austin joined her. “May I ask why you are not married? It is common for the young men who come from the other side to marry quickly.” 

          Austin didn’t answer.

          She continued, “I know I speak boldly. The women in my tribe are plainspoken. Some of the English find it offensive. Do you feel the same? Is that why you do not answer?”

          Any hope of gaining her approval fled as he replied, “The English girls know I have Gypsy blood and will have nothing to do with me.”

           “I have heard Gypsies are good with horses,” Mary replied.

           “The English think Gypsies have less value even than a horse.”

          Austin saw Mary’s father walking up the beach. “Will your father be angry with you for talking to me?”

          “English girls are foolish. Do not worry about my father. He has been watching you. He thinks you are very brave.”

          Austin gazed into Mary’s blues eyes. She was the future he hoped for, yet he had nothing to offer. “How am I brave?”

          “You left your family, and all that was familiar, to sail across the ocean in search of a new home.” She smiled and added, “You came to a hostile land with Indians. You were brave enough to face the unknown.”

          “Many have done so,” he replied.

          Mary lowered her eyes and answered, “My father is not concerned with the many.”