Frankie's Candle (beginning of short story)

Frank was called Frankie at the time, and he was told to make a candle to give to his mother for Mother’s Day, 1982. He put together a collection from his precious box of flotsam and jetsam, as his dad called it, to decorate the candle. He spent days choosing very carefully from his collection until he found the things most suited to his mother’s memory. He started with a piece of string that was very special to him, from a bird he found in the playground. When Frankie went up to get the bird, it opened its mouth and gave Frankie the string. The kids in the playground yelled, “Bird flu! Bird flu Frankie!”, and it became their song for a week. Frankie wanted his mom to know how much he was cared for.

Inspiration to Write

I have realized that the difference between being a writer and not being a writer has a direct causal relationship with whether or not I write. If I don't use my voice, I won't have one. There's so much to say. The small skirmishes people have in their little pockets of drama. The horrific wipe-out of whole sections of people; through murder, theft of opportunity and hate mongering. I suppose I can only speak to those who are living and I cannot change the deaths of others. But I do think the atrocities of the world come from a specific lack of empathy in everyday life. No, a specific and misunderstood desire to harm others. Perhaps through boredom or a vaguely held notion of injustice for whatever is NOT held. In this way I think the little pockets of drama and horrific delusions on a world-wide scale are connected. This is the focus behind my fiction.

Drink -short story

Drink
19 Feb. 07 (edited 10 March, 19 March, 27 March)

When is drinking during the day officially ‘during the day’? Beth had heard that drinking before noon was too early, but she thought eleven thirty was not unheard of as a lunch time and who didn't drink a couple with lunch? At three in the afternoon on a day in November, a doctor in Birkenstocks told Beth she was pregnant. Her eyes held small pools of water. She was now both pregnant and sloshed (wasted, fucked, tanked).

She drove home through the rain, willing her eyes to focus on the road ahead. The drive was not very long, but the winding roads of upstate New York were never an easy navigation. Rain came down faster and more plentiful as she pulled into a spare space on her street. If she got out now she would be soaked, but the run across the street to her building was a quick one. She put out her cigarette in the ash tray of the car and prepped herself. She looked out the window and opened the door quickly for an easy escape. Halfway across the road, she was hit by a red truck.

When Beth was a child her mother used to drop her off at the mall to see her friends every Saturday afternoon. But Beth didn’t have any friends to meet. She would use her babysitting money to go to the movie theatre, buy candy and a soda, and after the first movie she would sneak into a second one. This gave her between thirty minutes and an hour to look through the stores afterward. Having used up her money on the movie, she would sneak some small pen or Hello Kitty notepad into her pocket. When her mom arrived to pick her up at night, she would fail to notice the trinket Beth had pulled out of her pocket for cover, and would launch into what her boyfriend of the time had done to make her mad.

That was when she was growing up in Idaho. The spare landscape had comforted her when she felt happy in her isolation, but when she was depressed and felt all was unjust, which was most of the time, she felt the landscape choking her. Beth determined to get out. She knew from her mother’s example that men made you lose your self, your freedom and your chances at a good future. School was her ticket to the world, away from a friendless existence and a sure entrance into a college far, far away.

In high school, she didn't stay away from all men exactly as planned. Because of her young years, Beth had a strong feeling and memory of her past that coupled uncomfortably with a feeling that something was missing, or was not quite 3-D enough to be tactile. Things could be unjust, but she had no warning of the insidiousness of life. She did not yet know that you could be raped and robbed and then be expected to carry on as normal. She had not yet discovered that the world held so much freedom that the first understanding of its void could make her cry with terror.

Her first boyfriend had waited two months to ask her if she would do him a favor, as he called it. Perhaps it was a strange Idaho-ian idiom, but she was asked several times to do several boys a favor. Eventually, they had stopped waiting and could see it on her, the desire to nullify her potential with behavior she deplored, and just started to push her head down. She closed her eyes and did what they wanted. It didn’t make her feel powerful like some of her classmates had said in the locker rooms. It just was and she had the rest of her life to feel disgusting and embarrassed about it. Now she could feel nothing.

Beth continued in this same way, successfully avoiding love in all its forms. She had been infatuated several times, but was careful to stay away from potential entrapment. And so she graduated high school as a National Merit Finalist, a Presidential Scholar, editor of the student newspaper, Supreme Holder of All Awards that made you Smart!, and went to college on a scholarship.

College was different, just as she'd hoped. But there were a few things she hadn't counted on. She met people who were smart like her, but who had Families. They cared what their parents thought of them. Beth felt like she was hopping around on one leg when she walked to campus with her friends. They had discussions about having to ask their parents for money for new clothes and Beth could not respond to their world. The isolation started to come back. Upstate New York wasn't all that different from Idaho. Small towns and farm land back to back to back.

She started to drink more than her friends at every party. She took the drugs that cute boys gave her and was consoled by the thought they were gifts. The frat boys would joke that she came pretty cheap if you got to her drunk enough. It was all a journey and there was no permanence. Beth never knew what they said about her but she was starting to see it in the mirror anyway. The muscles in her face had changed and she didn't have the crooked smile that was more of a smirk that had made everyone smile back. The mirror showed her a Vaseline-teethed smile with frightened and stoned eyes.

"Beth, what are you doing in there?" yelled Sara through the bathroom door.
"One sec'. Sorry I was tweezing," Beth yelled back.
She gathered her pajamas and opened the door covered in two towels. She was shaken by what she'd seen in the mirror, but was used to keeping it to herself.
"Ah, I'm gonna be late for class," she said too close to Sara's face. Sara tipped her head back from the force of the alcohol still on Beth's breath and side-stepped into the bathroom with a wan smile on her face.
"Figures," she mumbled under her breath.
Beth went to her room, unaware of having any effect. She went through her make-up and clothing routine and checked her email before realizing she wouldn't make it to class. She decided instead to get some coffee from the canteen. She noticed that she was increasingly less concerned with what time it was and what she was supposed to be doing with her days.

At the coffee shop, one of her friends of a friend tapped her on the shoulder while she was in line. She turned around and her face broke into an unnatural cheerleader smile.
"Oh hi Brett, how's things?"
"S'okay. You up for the party tonight?" Brett asked with a grin.
"Is Danny going to be there?" she asked after their friend in common.
"Mos definitely," he semi-slurred.
"Alright, I'll see you then," she smiled and turned away.
"Or," he tapped again," we could hang out if you'd like. Unless you've got class or something. You wanna blaze at the Plantations?"
Beth thought she probably wouldn't do anything that afternoon anyways, so she agreed to the three mile drive out to the agricultural school to smoke in the acres of cultivated land called the Plantations. When they arrived, Brett parked the car and got out saying, "Gimme a minute." He called someone on his cell phone.
"Danny's coming to meet us," he said after he opened her side door.
Beth felt relieved and realized she had been tense the whole ride up. What did she really know about this guy anyways. They walked to the woods and down the gorge to the river rocks. Brett rolled and they smoked. He pulled a flask out of his pocket and handed it to Beth.
"You want some?"
"What is it?"
"You'll like it."
"Don't you want to drink any?"
"I already have."
"Okay. Sure."
She took the flask and sipped the whisky without flinching. She suddenly remembered when she had hated whisky; it wasn't very long ago.
"Hey guys," said Danny, sneaking up behind them. Beth had a crush on Danny, but they had always had a casual relationship. Beth would flirt with Danny but no more because he had a girlfriend. It was the last of her rules.

"Let's go exploring down the stream," said Danny. They all got up and walked down the stream. Rocky terrain and a light drizzle increased the dizzy feeling in Beth's head as she followed Danny with Brett behind. It felt like they had been walking for hours, but she thought the pot and whisky had a lot to do with her increasing confusion. When the sun started going down and she realized they'd been walking for over an hour without talking, she said, "Let's rest for a bit."

She was surprised to find the boys quick to acquiesce and they stopped. Danny asked if they wanted a drink and unzipped his backpack to show the cans of beer he'd brought. Beth still wasn't feeling clear headed but agreed to a beer. She wondered how they would get back to the party. The three of them sat quietly on the rocks for a while.

"Let's play a game," said Brett. "How about 'Have you ever'." Brett and Danny smiled at each other. Beth was happy to do something other than walk. They all stood up, but she promptly sat back down. Something was wrong with her head. She wasn't getting sober. She couldn't remember what being sober felt like. They played the game somehow and she tried to respond to what they were saying and the night got darker. Beth couldn't remember why she was there.

Danny took a condom from his pocket, ripped it and put it on. "Turn around," he said to Beth. She turned to the rock face and Danny lifted her shirt from behind. He grasped her to him quickly and pulled up her skirt, entering her before she had a second to protest. Brett walked up to them and got between Beth and the rock, facing her. He pulled her down to him and Danny resituated himself on top of her from behind. They entered her simultaneously and Beth concentrated on not behind sick. She didn't like Brett and said to Danny, "I only wanted you." It wasn't the strong protest she had expected. She realized she was in shock; she couldn't feel anything. They continued on with her and she let them, thinking back to her days in high school and since. She was paralyzed with fear. She didn't know this could happen, she didn't know what to do or who would hear her scream. She realized that this had been the plan. And she waited for it to be over. Now they wanted her to suck them, with her juices still on their condoms. She ran. Naked except for her bra and skirt, she ran down the rain-risen stream for what felt like miles. When she stopped, she threw up and passed out.

When Beth looked out the window and onto the rain covered road, she had seen the red truck and the water cloud it was making as it sped up the hill.

The Plastic Elephant

Two women sat facing each other in an office, decorated with the flat colors of the kind of hotel room where salesmen lay asleep wishing they were thin enough to cheat on their wives.
“So these are the words you associate with your father?” asked the counselor, holding out the ‘homework assignment’ for the week.
“Yes.”
“Do you think you know the reasons why?”
“Do you?”
“Well, that’s not really the point of the exercise Geraldine.”
Gerry paused and looked down. Then back to the counselor with a smile. The whole exercise seemed puerile to her and she was not sure why she played along.
“I’m sorry. I forgot that I have a dentist appointment in twenty minutes. Do you mind if I come back for a session later in the week?”
“No, but—“
“Thanks so much, I’ll see myself out.”
“Have the receptionist schedule your next session.”
“Yahum...I will…bye!”
She slammed the door and hurried down the corridor. At the lobby, her pace slowed and relief settled in. When she got out to the parking lot, planted with the half-grown trees common to the Midwestern suburbs, she walked to her car with her face to the sun in freedom. After putting her long dark hair into a ponytail, she started the car and pulled out of the space in her silver Volvo. She drove for several miles without paying particular attention and took a right into another parking lot. This time without trees. She worked inside the old city, where the tread of a landscape architect would be pointless. As she got out of her car with her arms full of papers, she was hailed from the front of the building by a man in a janitor’s jacket.
“Hey Dr. G, how goes it?”
“I’m fine thanks, Stuart, and you?”
“Good Doc, real good.”
Dr. Gerry Wood, the resident child psychiatrist at St. Alban’s, walked up the front steps to the hospital. She felt sheepish now for running out of the counselor’s office. The creaking elevator took her up to the sixth floor and she picked up her charts from the hanging wall file outside her office.
Billy Matterley was her first appointment. He was a scrawny blonde boy of eight with big blue eyes that Gerry had noted in her files as penetrating. The doctor had a few moments to get her office in order, so she watered her aloe plant that she often forgot to water and made sure everything sharp was off her desk. There was a tiny knock on the door and Gerry said, “Come in.” Billy stepped into the room, looking down at his flapping once-Velcro sneakers.
“It’s alright Billy, come on in.”
“I know it’s alright…I’m not stupid…idiot,” and he started to tear up. Unfazed, Gerry passed him a Kleenex. Some part of her wished she had Billy’s honesty when confronted with emotions.
“How’s your family Billy?”
“They’re dead,” he said, his voice flat. “I killed them last night.”
“Oh. Then who drove you here this morning?”
“I walked.”
“You killed your parents and were thoughtful enough to keep your appointment?” Her face twisted into a slight knowing grin, purpose-made to inspire the patient to admit his lie.
Billy was silent. His anger was building up and trying to come out of the pores of his face as sweat. Gerry had been seeing the little boy for six months and had observed that he did not act out even the smallest threats. She tried hard not to be frustrated. She wanted to know why Billy punished himself this way. His histrionic mother played affection games and his frustrated father was jealous and abusive. But somehow it didn’t seem enough.
“Billy, can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“My dad…touched me,” he said and smirked. Gerry decided to take a new tack.
“Listen Billy, do you have a favourite toy?”
“I like animals.”
Gerry reached into her desk drawer where she kept a box of assorted toys. She used them to test the children’s interest and interaction with things other than themselves.
“Billy, do you want to play with this toy?” she said, holding out an inflatable plastic elephant. “You have to blow it up first though.” She reached her arm towards Billy, holding the elephant.
“My dad is always telling me to do things. They’re called chores. I hate them.”
Billy’s face turned into an ugly grimace of hatred and his eyes darted down and became focused on his shoes once more. Quickly, he grasped the plastic toy from her and threw it on the floor. This surprised Gerry. Despite his surly verbal presence, Billy always calmed down fairly quickly in her office.
“Stupid Billy, he always says. Stupid Billy, you’ve fucked up!” Something had changed. “Silly, Stupid Billy. You stupid shit! No Billy-,” he shrieked as he mimicked his father.
That night, Geraldine walked out of the hospital exhausted. She had spent all day with the police explaining how shocked she was that Billy really did kill his parents, and how he'd come to see her to confess. He must have had a psychotic break, she said. She walked to and unlocked her car and got in. When she went to turn the car on she realized that she had left her keys in the door.
"Goddammit, Jesus!" she shouted.
She stopped breathing and closed her eyes. When she had calmed herself she rolled down the window with the handle and took the keys out of the door. She drove home thinking about the details of Billy's trip to her office this morning. How did he walk the 10 miles to her office? This wasn't one of those cities with a subway system and he had no reason to know the schedules and routes of the buses needed to get there. She marveled that he could grow up and twist so much in twelve hours and still have looked like the Billy she knew when he walked into her office. She arrived at home and turned off her car engine.
When she got up to bed, half in, half out of her clothes, she rolled a joint. She nudged her husband Jack awake and asked after their daughter.
"How was Riley tonight?"
"Riley was smart, adorable and wild. Just like you."
Jack leaned over and kissed Gerry on her neck, right where it met her shoulder.
"You feel like smoking with me?"
"Sure babe."
Jack's black sleepy hair fell over his forehead and tickled her neck. They smoked their joint and fell into each other's arms and bodies and legs as tight as they possibly could. Gerry didn’t tell Jack about her day.
The next morning Gerry couldn’t concentrate. When she’d walked into her office early, she’d found the plastic elephant underneath one of the chairs. It had seemed such an unknowing, unworthy prop to yesterday's events. She fiddled with the bits on her desk, read through some notes; anything to avoid putting together the file of Billy Matterley for the police. They had just rung up asking for a full psychiatric evaluation. She didn’t think her notes would be helpful. All the diagnoses in the world didn’t explain why some things trigger people into action. Of course, this is not how she was supposed to be thinking, especially with her clinical training. She knew what the triggers were and that they set off sometimes latent diseases such as schizophrenia. She knew this, but felt it didn’t take a real life into account. Humans, she thought, are not logical beings and this costume of logic she’d been wearing was starting to tear.
She looked out the window at the struggling park that straddled the hospital and watched the ducks flapping around her tree. She got up to go to the lake. She took the stairs out, and walked down the fickle grass growing in clumps on the hillside. There was a willow by the lake that she came to when she needed a different version of events. A new setting to smell and be in.
Where are all the normal and healthy people, she asked herself. In answer, a man of about eighty turned from behind the tree as she approached the water. He was leaning against her willow. She walked up almost to where he was standing as if to say, this is my spot, and then stepped right a few feet. She stared at the water.
"Hello." The old man said and turned to Gerry.
"Hello."
"What brings you down here?"
"I don't know, habit?"
"You've got something on your mind?"
Gerry started to feel antsy; she didn’t like people asking her questions. She decided to change the subject.
"The weather's interesting today."
"Hmm. It looks like the clouds are holding rain. We’ll probably be looking at a downpour soon. You know, my daughter's in that hospital. They can't figure out what's wrong with her. But still, those doctors, always telling you what to do so clinically, as if they've forgotten they're taking care of humans. I was a mechanic. I treated my cars with more humanity than that in there."
"I know what you mean. It seems there's something off in the equation. Cause and effect don't really seem to work out in humans the way they think."
"Equation! Hm.You speak like them. You know, your face - there's something wrong there…maybe in those blue eyes. Ach, ignore me, I'm just a tired old man." The old man sat down on the damp ground and leaned against the tree. He closed his eyes and Gerry was about to ask him why her face was wrong. But the old man's eye lids lowered and his breath became a rhythmical in and out.
"It's somewhere in these details," she started, "there's something that I haven't quite understood. I know that."
He smiled a sleepy dream smile and waited for her to answer her question.
"I never thought my father loved me," she finally said, "but I just, I didn't think it bothered me."
“A little disillusionment will go a long way,” answered the old man, opening his eyes.