For Papa

Intro: My grandfather recently passed away so I thought I wold put up what I read at his funeral. This poem was very hard to write (as was the letter). It took me a long time to figure out exactly what to say and how to best honor my grandfather. Finally, I figured out exactly what to say.

Papa,


I miss you so much. Though you were not someone who demanded attention or remembrance, you were not someone who ever went unnoticed. I will never forget all the lessons you taught me, all the jokes you told me and all the memories we shared. I will always remember your kind and generous nature.

Mark Twain once said, “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” This quote sums you up- a man who lived life to the fullest, unafraid. You married an amazing woman, and with her raised three boys and then helped them raise their children, including me. Now I am in college hoping to pursue my own dreams, and hoping to follow your footsteps in American/Israeli advocacy. Papa, through your generosity and ambition, you lived fully.

 

Love, Rachel

 

The petal of a rose touches the floor

I suddenly find myself looking for more

A tick of a clock

I instantly find myself in shock

The ring of a bell

I just want to crawl back into my shell

The turn of a page

They say understanding comes with age

A flick of the lights

I start thinking about the sleepless nights

The sound of a step

There seems like hardly any time to prep

The tapping on a keyboard

I think about walks on the sea shore

The end of a book

There’s nowhere else to look

The cutting of a thread

Finally I realize he’s dead

Hello there blog :D

I am so sorry that I haven't posted in a while. I will try to put something up as soon as possible. I've been very preoccupied lately, but i have been working on some new projects. I will put out some new stuff as soon as I can.

Dead Summer

I used this story for my English research paper. I based my research on The Help. I wanted to write a character similar to Skeeter, who breaks away from her society. I also pulled some inspiration from one of my favorite movies, Almost Famous. I hope you enjoy "Dead Summer."

“Alright, that’s strong. Tracy take a hit,” Lisa said, handing over the smoking joint. Tracy took a big inhale and then coughed hard.

“Man that is good. You want another Sage?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m in a whole nother universe,” said Sage.

 Tracy, Lisa and Sage all sat around listening to ‘Dark Star’ and let the melody create hauntingly trippy images in their heads.

“Wow,” said Lisa.

“What?” asked Tracy.

“Just thinking about the words.” Lisa raised the smoking joint to her lips and took another deep drag. “’Mirror shatters in formless reflections of matter’ it just sounds so…deep. I mean Jerry is a legend. ”

“No way. What about Hunter?” asked Sage, who was referring to Robert Hunter, who not only played in the Dead but wrote their lyrics as well. “Hunter wrote the words. What was he thinking about?”

“Wish we could ask him,” suggested Tracy. Then Lisa and Sage turned, looking at each other, staring as if they had thought of the same idea at once.

“You guys. We should be groupies,” said Lisa, “it’s the perfect gig. You follow the band, listen to music, sing with them, and you know do this with them.” Lisa took another drag. “I think this is done,” she said, holding the stub of a joint in her finger tips. She then waved the stub at each of her friends who refused another hit. She then pulled out her ashtray and put it out.

“It’ll be perfect! Hanging out with Jerry, chillin with Bob. It’s a dream come true,” said Sage.

“I wonder what they’re all like in person. I bet they all meditate outside in big fields and smoke while writing,” dreamed Lisa.

Tracy, who had been quiet during this conversation, gave her friends a troubling look and said, "I hate to be the one to say this but I don't think that we can pull this off."

"Why not?" Sage asked, attempting to put in eye drops. She spread her eye open with two fingers, dropped in the medication and rubbed her eye after. She was skilled in the art of eye dropping. When she was done she handed the bottle to Lisa.

"You know how our mothers are. Jesus!" Tracy quickly crossed herself, "my mother is getting me ready for the convent. She won't stop talking about how she doesn't ever want me to end up like her. Single, alone, raising a kid. And Lisa, your mom is getting obsessed with that debutante crap. Charm school, etiquette classes,--"

“That's where she thinks I am now," Lisa interrupted before Tracy could finish.

"Sage, you know the reason why we only hang out at your house and neither of ours is because your parents understand. They know the music and the soul behind it."

This was true. Sage's parents were Dead Heads themselves, they smoked pot and ate vegan food. Sage was thankful for her parents and felt badly for her friends whose mothers had taken control of their lives. She thought and thought about how to help her friends so that they could all go. There had to be a way. Then it clicked, "Why don't we follow them over the summer? The last day of school is June eighteenth and thwe Dead is playing a show in San Francisco on the nineteenth. It's perfect! Lisa, tell your mom you are going to debutante lessons and Tracy tell yours that you are going to Bible camp, they'll totally buy it. No questions asked!"

"This is not going to work," Tracy sighed.

"At least try. Don't you want to see Jerry? Don't you want to hang out with Phil and party with Bob?"

Just then Sage's mother, self-proclaimed "Sunshine" walked into the room, wearing a long white skirt, a fringe vest and a blue tank top, "Did I hear someone say they wanted to party with Bob?"

"Bob Weir, Mo--Sunshine, we want to follow the Dead this summer," said Sage.

‘”Sounds groovy! Do it, live it and love it. Follow the Dead forever, just go where the music takes you." Sage's father, self proclaimed, Lennon, after extensively following the Beatles walked by in his bell bottoms, and vest. Lennon had met Sunshine at a Beatles' concert, and after that they just sort of went together. They never got married, despite having Sage. "Len, the girls wanna go with the Dead."

"Alright. Sounds boss."

*                                          *                                  *

                Tracy slowly walked  into the bakery below their apartment where her mother, Christina, was making apple pie. The smell of spices filled the bake shop and made it seem like September on that steamy June day. Tracy fought the munchies and walked toward he mother,  trembling with each step. “Mom?”

“Yes honey,” Christina wiped her forehead with her flower covered hand.

“I was wondering if, well, instead of working at the bakery with you this summer, could I possibly go to camp?” Christina gave her daughter a horrified look, then Tracy realized that she needed to clarify. “It’s a Bible camp. It’s called Camp, uhhhhh, Christ.”

“I don’t see why not. A girl came into the store today, actually, looking for a summer job. How much is camp and when does it start?”

“It starts the day after school ends and its, uhh,” Tracy knew that this was her chance to get as much money as she wanted, “two hundred dollars.”

“Sounds reasonable. Where am I going to drop you off?”

Tracy stood there for a few seconds, realizing that she was seconds away from being caught in a lie. She had never thought of where she was going, but just then she thought of an idea. “You won’t need to drop me off.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because I’m going with Sage.”

“That heathen. You are most certainly not going with her.”

“Mother you are misunderstanding me. I am bringing her to show her the light and save her soul. I want to show her the way of the Lord.”

“Well that is quite noble of you. Okay, you can go. You have my blessing,” Christina chuckled, “well don’t you get it? It’s a play on words. Because you’re going to Bible Camp.”

“Oh. I’m gonna go upstairs and do my work. Call up if you need me,” Tracy ran up the stairs and called Sage.

“Hello?”

“Hi Sunshine, it’s Tracy.”

“You wanna talk to Sage, right?”

“Yep.” Tracy gripped the phone with excitement as she waited for Sage to grab it so she could tell her the good news.

“Hey.”

“Sage, I’m in!”

*                                          *                                  *

                Lisa walked in on her mother, Lynda. using her belt massaging exercise machine, while smoking a cigarette and drinking a martini. Lynda was dressed in her usual work out attire, a tight black shirt tucked into even tighter leopard pants, a thick red belt and red heels. At the sight of her daughter, Lynda turned off the machine and took one last gulp of the martini.

“Well you’re back late.”

“Yeah mom, the teacher was pretty rough on me today.”

“You’re slouching again.”

Lisa angrily rolled back her shoulders, and yet again attempted a normal conversation with her mother.  “Mom, this summer, can I-”

“Honey pull in from your core. You’re starting to look chubby. Also, we need to get your nails done," Lynda leaned closer to Lisa's face and said, "oh and your eyebrows too. Remember, ladies always want to look their best.”

“Mom I’m trying to talk to you. Can you let me speak for one second?”

“I have been letting you speak. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I found a charm school for me to attend this summer.”

“Fabulous darling. How much is it?”

"It's three hundred dollars."

"Where is it?"

"It's in Los Angeles."

"Oh LA! Well they'll shape you up there better than I can here. When do I drop you off?"

“You uh, don't have to," Lisa realized that he mother had never met Sunshine, "My new personal teacher will pick me up June ninteenth."

"This must be one high-end summer program. Okay you can go."

“Thanks mom," Lisa said squeezing her mother tightly,

"Careful! I just ironed this outfit and- don't tell your father- I just got the girls done."

Lisa, entirely disappointed by her mother, rolled her eyes and went to her room.

*                                          *                                  *

The next day the girls got together at Sage's house to devise a plan on how to get backstage. They had to meet them, they just had to.

"We have to meet Jerry," said Sage, holding a photo of Jerry Garcia in her arms as she laid on her back.

"No, we have to meet Bob, he's the cutest," sighed Lisa.

"We should call the fan club president and see if he knows how to get to them," suggested Tracy. Lisa and Sage agreed that that would be the best course of action. Tracy then picked up the phone and dialed the fan club president, self-proclaimed             Casey Jones.

“Hello, Grateful Dead fan club!” Casey Jones’ voice was smooth over the phone,

Tracy studdered for a second, not able to believe that she was on the phone with the man himself, “I’m um um Tracy.”

“Hi Tracy,” he said.

“H-hi Tracy,” said Tracy, who had never been so flustered. Sage immediately grabbed the phone.

“I apologize for my friend, she’s a bit tongue tied after talking to someone so legenrdary.”

“I don’t believe I am that legendary. Who am I speaking with now?”

“Sage, I’m Sage. We’re looking to get back stage with the Dead. You know they’re having that concert in San Fran in June?”

“Of course I am well aware of their concert schedule. Getting with the Dead is near impossible. My buddies and I tried it back in ’67 and it did not end up well. However, I am willing to make a second attempt with some far out babes. How about this, why don’t you ladies meet me at Star Diner? The one on Maple Street? We’ll have some lunch and make a plan,” Casey suggested.

“Sure! How’s tomorrow at noon?” said Sage.

“Alright!” said Casey, “See you babes tomorrow.”

Sage hung up the phone and told her friends the good news. They agreed to meet up with at the Star Diner at 11;30 so they could prepare for their meeting with Casey.

*                                  *                                  *

The next day the girls met up at the Star Diner. Tracy showed up in a black Grateful Dead shirt with high wasted jean shorts, white Keds and sunglasses. Lisa was wearing a flowey flower print dress with a headband and sandals. Finally, Sage showed up wearing a headband around her head, a long flowey skirt, jean jacket and a white shirt.

            “How do I look,” Tracy asked, seeming frantic.

            “You look fine,” said Lisa, rolling her eyes.

            “He’ll be here any minute,” said Sage, “I can’t believe we’re meeting-” and as Sage was about to say the word Casey, she saw a man walking towards them. He was tall and tan. He was wearing bell bottoms and a long sleeve shirt. Casey had his dreads tied up in a pony tail and looked as though he were 20 years old. Tracy almost fainted.

            “I’m assuming you’re the ladies I’m meeting. Let me to introduce myself. I’m Casey. But I think you knew that.”

            “Of course we did, I’m Sage.”

            “I’m Lisa.”

            “And I’m uh, uh…”

            “She’s Tracy.”

“Is she always this shy?”

“Only when I’m looking at someone as cute as you are,” Tracy blurted without thinking. Her friends’ jaws simultaneously dropped.

“Well, babes, let’s go in side,” said Casey. The three girls followed Casey into the diner. A waitress showed them to a corner booth. Lisa sat with Sage and Tracy made sure she sat right next to Casey, staring at him and twisting her hair around her finger.

“So, you girls want to see the Dead?”

“We are huge fans. We actually want to follow them,” said Sage

“For how long?”

“However long it takes. We’re letting the music take us where it wants to go,” Sage said.

“Ladies, I’ve always heard it’s easier to get back stage with a few foxes. Look, I’m sure I’ll be able to get us all back stage if you ladies are willing to get down with the music,” Casey.

“Oh we will do anything to meet them,” said Tracey.

“Well then we’re in business,” said Casey, “We will all go to the Grateful Dead concert together on the nineteenth. We will make friends with a security guard, and this is where I need you ladies to look extra lovely, and then boom! We’ll get back stage.”

“Alright, I think we can handle that. But how do we get tickets?” Lisa asked.

“Already taken care of,” Casey pulled four tickets out of his jeans. “The fan club gets these all the time. They’re twenty dollars a piece.”

“Deal,” said Sage. Then all the girls handed him a twenty dollar bill.

“Okay, I will pick you all up the morning of the concert in my van and then we’ll drive up to San Fran to the concert,” said Casey.

The girls all thanked him for the offer and for the rest of the lunch they discussed the Dead and the concert and who in the band they loved the most. When the lunch was over they stood outside and talked while Casey smoked a cigarette.

“Casey I should go,” said Lisa, “my mom thinks I’m at charm class. It was nice to meet you.”

“Alright, see ya,” Casey said.

Tracey nudged Sage  who abruptly realized that she needed to go. “I should go too. I have a protest to prepare for.”

Casey looked at Tracy and said “I guess it’s just the two of us.”

“I guess so she said,” looking deep into his dark chocolate eyes. They leaned into each other and then, before Tracy even knew what was happening, Casey kissed her.

“So can I walk you home?”

“Groovy,” she said. The almost the whole way to her house they held hands and talked. Then about a block away from her house she let go.

“Something wrong?”

“Listen, my mother is preparing me for a convent. I can’t let her see me with a boy, like at all. Okay?”

“I get that. I’ll take myself home. Live and let live girl.” Casey kissed her on the cheek and walked away. Tracy smiled and rubbed her hand on her cheek.

*                                  *                                  *

The day of the nineteenth had finally arrived. Casey picked each of the girls up at their houses, two of them, having lied to their mothers.

“You babes ready for the night of your lives?”

“Totally,” said Tracy.

“Right on!” The whole drive they sang Dead songs and talked about the meaning of every word of every album. When they arrived at the venue, the girls were in awe. They approached the door and the three best friends pushed the doors open together.

“It’s uh, cool,” said Sage.

“Yeah, uhh, cool,” said Lisa.

“It’s unbelievable, Casey! I can’t believe I have never done this before,” screamed Tracy, who then grabbed the hands of Casey and Lisa, who grabbed Sage. They stood in the center of the mosh pit trying to push their way to the front. Lisa and Sage looked around. It was crowded, it smelled like too much pot and they were scared that someone would try to get them, after seeing someone who was having a “bad trip.” They simultaneously ran out and attempted to get some fresh air. They waited outside for the concert to clear out, but there was no sign of Tracy or Casey. So they went back in side the theater. There was no security guard so they went backstage.

“Tracy!” shouted Sage.

“Casey!” shouted Lisa.

“I cannot believe this. Of course Tracy ran off with him.”

“Lisa don’t worry! We’ll find her and then we’ll go home,” said Sage. Then they saw a door and heard noises from behind it. They knocked on the door and it swung open, Bob Weir was standing behind it.

“Hey there, you looking for someone?” He asked, taking a sip of a beer.

“You’re Bob Weir!” Lisa screamed.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“I’m sorry, she’s flustered now. None of my friends can hold it together around cute guys,” complained Sage. “Have you seen Casey Jones? He’s the president of one of your fan clubs.”

“Sure he’s with his girl over there!” Sure enough Tracy and Casey were sitting on a couch together talking to Jerry Garcia. The girls stormed over to them.

“I’m sorry Jerry, I mean Mr. Garcia. But Tracy it’s time to go,” said Sage, “Lisa and I were waiting outside all night. The least you can do is come home with us now.”

“No,” said Tracy, “I’m staying here.”

“This is not the world we thought it was. We’re just some girls from a small California town and that’s what we’re meant to be,” said Sage.

“You can go. I’m not coming,” said Tracy.

Lisa put her hand on Sage’s shoulder and said “C’mon, we’ve clearly lost her.” So the girls headed home and went back to their normal lives while Tracy and Casey stayed with the dead.

*                      *                      *

After months of trying to contact her Tracy’s mom gave up on her daughters soul. She never saw her daughter again.

Lisa went on later in life to become a successful lawyer. She worked on adoption cases.

Sage became a music teacher at the local elementary school and made sure she taught her students about the life behind music. However, due to the content of her course, after just one year they decided that she should teach high school.

Finally, Tracy stayed with Casey and the Dead. And much like Sage’s parents they we’re just together, and then they eventually, after the Dead broke up, had a baby,  they named him Jerry.

A VERY short preview of a script I am writing

Creepy space music plays low as the scene opens

INT: The camera looks at a white room with large TV screens on three walls, the view is from the upper left and right hand corners of the room. A group of men and women in suits enter the room, ushered in by a scientist in a white laboratory coat and dorky glasses. Beside him is a general in full uniform with two privates standing at attention.

Watson

(an older man, dressed like a scientist, ushering the group)

Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats, we will start the presentation shortly. I am sure you are all dying to get this information but nothing will happen until everyone is seated.

(the people all sit in rotating chairs that will turn through out the scene so that they will face each screen as it is being used.)

Very good, now, welcome to Stefan Co.’s laboratory. I must remind you that there is no eating.

(pans over to a man stuffing his face, and then looking embarrassed, he puts the food on the floor.)

No smoking, chewing gum, taking photos, beaming images, brain scanning or video taping.

(camera reveals people doing all of the above, and stopping as he says each forbidden activity)

I am sure that you will notice the screens in front of you. The screens will be used for the presentation momentarily but first we will view a short informative movie. B0X35! Lights!

B0X35

B0X35 activated. Lights going down.

Video Man

You were all selected because you are all from different places, races, and religions. After these short screenings you will have a big decision to make. As I am sure you are all aware that at the end of these short clips we will be taking a vote to decide the fate of these galaxies. Please do not feel badly about how the vote comes out. Please pick the society that you feel functions best. Now lets begin!

(camera shows the video that the audience is watching, once the video has ended the screen goes black and the words “Galaxy A” pop up)

ATTENTION READERS!!!!!

I haven't been on here in a while so I'm not sure how many people are still reading, but for those of you who have stuck with me I really appreciate it. I have been rather busy and unable to write, but I hope to get back on track starting now. 5 minutes ago I signed up for a writers' contest called "Script Frenzy" in which writers attempt to write a 100 page script in 30 days. I hope to get you all some previews along the way. I'm trying to get inspired now and figure out what to write about.

AGAIN, I thank you for bearing with me.

-R

Thanks for reading everyone!

Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

Cautionary

This was inspired by the poem Love Song by Dorothy Parker

I stare and get lost in seas of white and brown

But I know what’s coming and that gets me down

I love you more than I care to tell

I knew I was in trouble the moment I fell

At first you were only a friend

Now you are so much more

I know that someday it will end

This I choose to ignore

All too quickly, our love grew strong

But promise me this

You’ll remember my cautionary love song

For You

I’m giving you this

Please take it

I’m giving you this

Please don’t break it

I’m giving you this

Please take care of it

I’m giving you this

Please don’t be unfair with it

I’m giving you this, my heart

Please don’t part with it

Fall

Pretext: I put this up for my mother, she loves this poem and I wanted to post it for her.

I look outside and I see Fall.

Fall is a beginning, for me.

Fall is the start to being smart.

But Fall’s heart is ended by the cold

mistress Winter.

Winter whose icy blanket shall melt into a

new thing or Spring.

Spring is the new thing.

But Spring isn’t a bummer because after

 Spring is Summer.

Summer, the mistress of warmth.

Summer, whose warm days grow cooler and

turn to Fall.

Fall , the best season of all.

Size

                       They sat in the dressing room waiting for her. The girl was in another dressing room, her self-consciousness did not allow her to undress in front of them. She came out in a blue dress that was scrunched, had no straps and and two sparkly strands of diamonds down her sides. They did not approve.

“That dress is too tight,” Carol said. Carol was always the first one to speak up and was not one to disguise what she was thinking. “You need the next size up.”

The girl’s smiling face turned into a frown, as if her elegant carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. “It’s my size though. This is the size I usually wear,” she said with a quivering voice. She started to tear up.

“You can’t go by size. Everything is different,” Carol said.

“Yeah.” The word wiggled its way out of the sobbing girl’s mouth.

“What size do you think this shirt is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look in the back.”

The girl went to Carol’s shirt and saw that the tag had a tiny X next to a tiny L, “Oh.”

“It’s called a slim fit. It gives me the narrow cut I need on my torso.”

“Okay.”

“See? Why don’t you try on that black dress?”

“I’m going in order. I’ll get to the black dress soon.” She went back to her own dressing room and looked at the next dress. It was a gray dress with a stiff material. There was a large V cut and a silver sequent belt. She zipped the dress up and it fit, then she happily walked to the next room. Carol smiled.

“You look lovely.”

“I don’t like the way it looks on your breasts,” chimed in the girl’s mother, who had three new selections in her hand.

“I see what you mean,” the girl said with a sad tone. “I’ll go change.”

“Honey before you go, what about these?” Her mother held up the three dresses and the girl shot them down one by one.

“The one with the lace is too old lady for me, the purple one is too short and I just hate the green one. Can I change now?” Her mother nodded. The girl ran back into the room. She felt defeated. She looked in the mirror and started to pick out her flaws. She first leaned forward and noticed that her chin was breaking out, then she noticed that she needed an eyebrow wax. Then she stood to her side, she saw how heavy she was. She gripped the folds of her sides as she tried to suck in her stomach. “That was such a waste,” she whispered to herself. “I did all that and then I still look like this.” She began to sob, tears streamed down her face. “Why did I spend all that money on something that didn’t work. No, I didn’t work. I need to work harder.” She collected herself and put on the next dress. It was cream, tight and had gems on the chest. She took a good look in the mirror, she loved it. This is the dress, she thought to herself. She walked into the dressing room and waited for their approval.

“Oh honey!” Carol exclaimed as if all of Lord and Taylor had to hear.

“This is better but it’s not great,” her mother said with a disapproving tone. “I think you’d need a sweater over that.”

“I’d hate this with a sweater.”

“Honey, just try it,” Carol persuaded.

                The girl grudgingly put on the sweater. It was a bust length, shiny silver sweater that did not close. The girl liked it much more than she had suspected. “It’s not bad.”

“I like it more, but I still don’t think that it works on your chest. You can’t show cleavage in temple.”

“Honey try on the black one. It’s the one we’ve been waiting for.”

“I told you, I’m going in order. I only have a few left.” She pranced back to her dressing room and returned a few minutes later in a floor length gray gown with a single shoulder strap.

“I hate it.”

“Honey, put on the black one.”

The girl said nothing and went back to the dressing room. She returned in a knee length bright blue dress with slim spaghetti straps and gems under the bust. “I look like I’m thirteen.”

“This reminds me too much of all the dresses you wore to the bar mitzvahs in seventh grade.”

“Honey, I know I keep asking, but try on the black dress. I just want to see how it looks.”

The girl went back to her room and looked through the large pile of dresses to find the black one. She found it, floor length with diamond straps that crossed in the back revealing a large section for the girl’s upper back torso. She walked into the other dressing room and exclaimed, “What do you think?”

“It’s too matronly. I don’t like the floor length on you.”

“Honey, I think it’s nice but I think there are better ones in there. Go back in and try again.”

The girl sighed and walked back into the dressing room and looked through the pile one more time and one dress caught her eye. It was a short, silvery tunic, covered in sequins. She slipped the dress over her head and adjusted it so that the top bloused over the pencil-fit skirt. She waltzed back to the other dressing room with pride. She knew she looked good.

“Finally, the black one!”

“This is the black one? I thought the other dress was the black one.”

“No, honey, this is the dress we’ve been waiting for and it’s perfect. You know why? Because your mother can’t wear it. You’re at a special time in your life, at this age you can wear that sort of stuff and look amazing. Your mother would look silly wearing that.”

“I like it, but you need to take off the black belt.” Her mother stood up and undid the black string around her waist.

“What kind of jewelry would I wear with this?”

“Big earrings, some rings and no necklace.”

“Hon, I think you need the next size down,” Carol turned to the girl’s mother and said, “Go see if they have a size ten petite.” The mother stood up and left the room to look in the vast fields of the dress department. The girl sat in her place. “Honey, I think that this is the perfect dress. Your mother can’t wear it, this is a college age dress.”

“I know.”

“And you have to play with sizes, you may even be an eight petite.”

The mother returned with the size down. The dressing room was getting crowded and the girl decided that she was more embarrassed about taking up two rooms than getting undressed in front of her mother and grandmother. She gathered her clothing in her arms and walked out of the room “You can use this room,” she said to a woman waiting with a small child. She walked back to the room where her mother was waiting with the size down. She slipped the dress over her head and looked in the mirror. It fit like a glove.

“Honey, this is the dress. Go get dressed and I’ll take this to the register, my treat.”

The girl went back to her dressing room to get dressed. Before she removed the sequin tunic she took one last look in the mirror and decided that she had never found a better fit than that sequin tunic.

In the Garden

            As I sat in the rehab garden and looked about the place seemed to fade. It made so much more sense out there. It was warm, like summer, and we liked that, we were just kids. We would goof around all the time, pretending that we would never face the cold bloody Hell of battle. Jimmy, my bunkmate, and I would play cards and exchange stories about the girls we had waiting for us when we got home. On the days that weren’t so bad we went into town and grabbed us a few drinks. Jimmy always got the same thing, beer, tall glass, chilled. He loved that beer, the colder the better, he said. It seemed to balance out the horrible Vietnamese heat, and remind him of his home in Vermont.

            “Man, when I get out of here. I’m really gonna raise some Hell, and those deserters can kiss my ass. Damn Commies,” Jimmy told me, after a few too many.

“I think you’ve had enough,” I said, pulling the glass out from under his chin.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.” He looked at me with a  stern face for all of two seconds, and before I knew it we were cracking up.

“Let’s get back.” We walked back from the bar that night in a loud drunken stupor, pretending we were back home again. Just as we were about to reach base, we heard fire. Suddenly, our drunken haze was over and we took action. We ran to out commander, who told us to get down and shoot like our lives depended on it. Jimmy and I lay side by side as we shot ‘em down. One, two, so many dead bodies, and then out of nowhere one of ‘em came at me. I saw his face, and it looked like mine. Never before had I been so scared to kill.

His face took me back to my old home in Georgia. It took me back to the mornings when my sister and I would fight over who got the bathroom. I felt warm and safe, but then I realized that I wasn’t in Georgia, I was in a foreign country, where they spoke a different language and had completely different values.

After a short moment of freezing my surroundings came back and I knew that it was him or me, I chose him. I shot him twice, once in the leg and once in the chest. He came down like a bag of bricks. Then I heard a cry, a terrible cry so close, I didn’t want to believe it, I looked to my side, it was Jimmy.

“Jim! Jim! Jimmy!”

“Th-th-th-ey g-g-g-g-got m-m-me. T-take th-this back to Ver-m-mont,” he handed me a diamond ring, “g-g-give it t-t-too S-Susan Macdo-do-donald, t-tell her I l-l-love h-her,” and with that Jimmy took one last gasp and died. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I took the ring and stashed it in my pocket, nice and secure, then I took his weaponry and moved into the field. Out there a man dies and he is forgotten instantly. It made sense but at the same time it showed us all the barbarian in us all that only comes out on the field.

In an instant the black night fades to green. The hot, humid Vietnamese air changed to the familiar warmth of a Georgia day. The gun in my hand dissolved and Jimmy’s ring was no longer in my breast pocket. A nurse stood at my side, her hand on my shoulder. My ears, that had been filled with the sounds of war were now being greeted by a soft voice.

“Your mother is here to see you,” said the nurse. My mother stepped forward, pale, thin, clearly distressed.

“You look terrible,” my mother said, “You look like you haven’t slept. They tell me that you stopped eating, you’ve complained of nightmares,  that you have spells of being there and you spend all of your time here, by the lilies.”

“Good to see you too ma.”

“I’m serious, your father and I sent you here to be well. This is killing me, your father and Molly. How do you think she feels about all this?”

“Mom, I’m having a tough time and your not being supportive isn’t helping me.”

“My son, the baby killer.” At that moment I blacked out. I was brought back to the day I came home. All the people in the air port ere screaming.

“Murderer! You’re all invaders! Animals! Baby killers!” Then one man stepped forward and launched a tomato at my chest. The crowd behind him cheered and chanted.

“This is the thanks we get.” Whispered Hank who was clearly trying to contain his anger.

“Relax Hank. Don’t let ‘em get too ya. Attention is how they win.”

“We’re just kids, man.  We’ve seen things these guys couldn’t imagine,”

“Relax, relax. We’ll be home soon.” The scene around me faded and I was back in the garden. My mother was hovering over me, crying.

“What happened ma?”

“You were running, screaming like a barbarian and then you passed out.”

“I need help.”

“You need to be locked away.” She turned her back to me and stormed off.

Mistaken: A Break Up

When her day had finally calmed down she texted him:

Would it have made a difference if I hadn’t told you? What if I had taken care of it myself and then told you?

She anxiously awaited his reply. Nervously, she paced her room, cleaned it and surfed the internet until she felt her phone buzz, it was a reply.

No and no.

Shira slumped at her desk and looked at the bright screen of her laptop. She opened his facebook page one last time, just to be sure she knew. Chris Masters, his blonde hair, deep blue eyes and sweet smile drew her in but only for a second. She closed the page, grabbed the Danish bakery bag that sat at her feet, got in her car and drove slowly down the road until she reached the white house with the wrap around porch. She slowly walked up the grim walkway, which seemed dimly lit on that hot July day, she knocked on the door and he answered.

“What are you doing here?” Chris scowled and crossed his arms.

“These are yours. I don’t want them anymore.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why are you doing this?”

“You know that these are your boxers and this is your shirt,” she pulled them out of the bag and shoved the tags in his face exclaiming, “they have your name on them! And look this is a stack of all the cards you gave me and they have your name too.” She reached around her neck and undid her heart shaped necklace. “You gave me this for our one year anniversary.”

“Babe, I never gave you any of that stuff. This is so like you; writing cards to yourself, writing my name in things that aren’t mi-”

“How dare you accuse me of that! I didn’t do anything.”

“Then who did? Was it Ezra? I see you guys talking in school all the time.”

“Honestly? You’re bringing this up? I told you we’re just friends.” Her eyes welled up, to think just a few weeks before everything was okay. She thought to herself, if only we hadn’t been so hasty, if only we had waited. Everything would have been normal.

“You’re just as friendly with him as you are with me and Stewart, Johnny, Brandon, Charlie and Max.”

“I don’t understand why you care that I’m friends with guys. I told you that they mean nothing to me.”

“What about Rob?”

“I told you that I don’t talk to him anymore.”

“You’ve always compared me to him and I have never quite measured up. You were never going to be with Rob and you know that. You’re lucky you even got with me.”

“I thought I was lucky. There was a point in time where I thought I was lucky and now I know that I was mistaken.”

“I never felt a thing for you. Shira, you know what your problem is? You think that you’re pretty and nice and that people like you, hell you even believed that I loved you but you are so blind. You’re ugly, mean, no one likes you and I, your boyfriend of 18 months, never loved you.”

“Why would you say that to me? You’re clearly lying.”

“Just go away. Honestly, leave, go back to your perfect little school, your perfect little family, your perfect little temple and live out your perfect little life without me in it.”

“Fine. I’m gone.” She dropped the bag, turned and ran back to her car tears streaming down her cheeks. She grabbed the handle of the door and for a second considered giving him a longing look, but then she remembered that she had one thing left to lose in this relationship, her pride. She got into her car and drove off, speeding with rage.

Rocking Back and Forth

                Things in life are both happy and sad. It’s all about perspective. I try to look at all events and find the good that will come out of them. In some respects I am a Pollyanna, but I don’t see that as being a negative or even a naïve feature. I think my “Pollyannaness” stems from my wanting to make crazy situations seem more bearable, and even normal.

 In that chaotic Summer of 1968 I had been devastated by the death of my personal hero, Robert Kennedy, whom I had interned and then worked with for a number of years. When he was shot I was shocked and stricken with grief.  So, I started to look at the positives of the time Mr. Kennedy had had on this Earth.

                When I arrived at Mitch’s house that evening I did not come in my usual empty-handed, shorts and tee-shirt fashion. I arrived in a white skirt, a black blouse and sandals. My arms full of homemade muffins, cookies, flowers and a teddy bear with a note. I had taped the note to the hand of the bear so it would look as though he was presenting the letter to Mitch, and not me. As I approached the door I arranged the many items in my arms so that they would not fall and carefully opened the door. When I stepped inside they were all gathered around the kitchen table, laughing and eating. Mitch immediately stood up and walked to me. He helped remove the items from my arms before giving me a hug and kiss, after which he looked at the items that he had removed. The baked goods delighted him and the bear with the note made him smile. Luckily, his mother, Bonnie loved the flowers and immediately stuck them in a vase. He then introduced me to the new family members sitting at the table, his grandma, Granny, and his uncle, George.

                That night, when the sun had set, we lit the two candles so that the red-orange flames glistened against the brown polished wood of the dining room table. The starlight rushed in from the large window and flowed over us. They chanted familiar words in an unfamiliar tune as I hummed along, rocking back and forth on my heels and adjusting my skirt.

The group then turned their attention to the silvery glow of the wine fountain at the end of the table. Mitch picked up the largest cup and filled it to the brim with red-purple liquid. Once the glass was full he poured it into the fountain. I watched in delight as the spouts spurted the liquid into smaller cups. Everyone, including myself took a cup. Then they chanted more familiar words in an even more unfamiliar tune and I rocked on my heels while humming along. When the tune was over we all drank down the sweet and sour red-purple liquid, chilling our throats on the way down. We then turned to Bonnie who carried out a large golden braid of bread. One last time they chanted, I hummed and we ate.

I took my place next to Mitch and across from Nicole, Mitch’s sister. Bonnie served a variety of meat cooked by her husband Maxwell. Maxwell, being the “man of the house” sat at the head seat and passed around plates of meat, corn and vegetables. I politely placed two chicken drumsticks on my plate beside a piece of corn. I tried to eloquently cut the meat off the bone and they all stared. I explained that my grandparents, who had had a big hand in raising me, were British and very strict about table manners. I told them that by the age of four I knew how to “properly” use a fork and knife. Granny understood and told me that fingers were perfectly acceptable utensils at this house. I smiled and picked up the slimy, fatty chicken leg with my fingers and slowly lifted it to my mouth. As I took a bite the meat feel clear off the bone. The meal was filled with conversation, jokes and a bitter sweetness.

As the meal finished, everyone sat while Granny and Bonnie cleared the table, a practice that would never be tolerated in my home. I made the mistake of trying to clear my own place but was told to relax and wait for them to finish clearing. Suddenly, the tantalizing idea of having a grandmother stereotype overwhelmed me with joy.

When Bonnie and Granny had finished clearing dinner they brought out tea, pie and watermelon. I placed a thick, juicy piece of the pink-red watermelon and put it on my plate beside my steaming cup of chai tea. The aroma of the chai slowly drifted into my nose. I picked up the big piece of watermelon and took a large bite. I immediately tasted onion. Evidently Mitch had made the mistake of cutting the watermelon on the cutting board that Bonnie had used for the onions we had eaten with the main course. When we had finished eating Granny left and took her son George, along with some leftovers, with her.

Nicole, Mitch and I went into the kitchen to unload and reload the dishwasher. It took us an hour to decipher where Bonnie wanted everything to go. When we were done, we went upstairs to Mitch’s bedroom and began what Nicole called the “roll and pack.” The roll and pack was designed to save Mitch as much space in his suitcase as he needed. Maxwell, Nicole, Mitch and I gathered in Mitch’s room to pull out the enormous stacks of clothing we needed to roll and pack. We rolled and packed shirts, shorts, pants, boxers and pajamas. All the clothing fit neatly into Mitch’s oversized duffle. However, Mitch felt that it was essential that he bring playing cards, a Frisbee, some books and, of course, the teddy bear I had given him earlier in the evening. When the duffels were zipped Maxwell and Nicole left the room.

Mitch and I sat on his bed holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. We did not have to say anything to each other; we both knew there would be no more perfect moment than this. After an hour of our laying together Mitch proposed an idea and I agreed. We loaded his duffel into my car along with a blanket and went to the lake where we had our first kiss a few months before. We lay down on the blanket holding hands and looking at the large night sky. We traced constellations with our fingers and dissolved into each other’s arms. That moment seemed magical and everlasting.

“You know, I could just stay this way…forever?” Mitch said, while adjusting his arm around my waist.

“Me too, honey,” I said, tears streaming down my face.

            It was almost dawn, which meant that it was time for us to go. We drove back to Mitch’s house and snuck up to his room, pretending we had been sleeping there all night. We lay down on the bed snuggling under the warm covers and after a few hours we were woken up by the slimy tongue of Mitch’s dog Rascal.

We then proceeded down to the breakfast table for our last meal together; things were not like they were last night. There was no conversation, no laughing and no jokes. Nicole, Maxwell, Mitch, Bonnie and I sat and ate in complete silence, other than the occasional noise or two from Rascal, swiftly followed by “Rascal, NO!” The soft clanking of silverware on plates was the only thing to break the silence.

After cleaning up the table we knew it was time to go. We got in my car and left. On the first leg of the two-hour drive, Mitch and I were unable to speak. The air in the car felt denser than any place I had ever been in my life. Then Mitch broke the silence.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said.

“Of course I’ll worry. I just won’t write that to you,” I replied. “Honey, you seem distant, are you alright?”

“I guess I’m just nervous, but who isn’t? I just don’t know what to expect once I’m there. I could just be boxing and playing cards all day, but it could be much different.”

“Please write me and tell me what it’s like. I want to feel as if I am there with you.”

“Babe, I want you to know something before I go. Something to make you think about me until I get back.”

“What is it, Mitch?”

“When I come home, twelve months from now, I want to marry you.”

After that I didn’t know what to say. Stunned silent, I kept focus on the road. I knew we were only a little while away. “I’m sorry, you want to what?”

“I want to marry you.”

And as if by magic, as he finished his last syllable, we arrived at the army base. It was a desolate area drowned by army jeeps, soldier huts and new recruits. I looked at Mitch for a while and he looked at me.

“I want to marry you too,” was all I could say. We kissed one last time and he got of the car and waved goodbye as he headed into the unknown jungles of Vietnam, only with a duffle of old clothes to comfort him.

*                      *                      *

We had been writing to each other for almost eleven months and had shared in each other’s daily lives. I felt as though I was there with him and as the eleventh month drew closer I knew that there would only be one month left until I saw him again. But one day the letter did not come. Then a week had gone by, no word from Mitch. At the end of the week I went to Mitch’s house to ask Bonnie  if she had gotten a letter from him. She told me she hadn’t and we exchanged looks of horror and worry.

 Just then we heard a knock on the door, and it was a sight we had been dreading for a week. It was a man from the army in uniform carrying a folded flag, dog tags and a diamond ring. As the soldier saluted and walked off we collapsed to the floor and cried together for Mitch, we cried for the time we lost and we cried to mourn the family that would never be.

Things in life are both happy and sad. I try to find the positive in everyday craziness to make life seem more bearable and more normal. I was sad that I had lost Mitch, but I was glad that I had him when I did.

My Uncle, My Brother

This post is a tribute to my uncle who passed recently.

My Uncle, My Brother

             I laid on the couch, my feet heavy on the ottoman. I was holding a bowl of frozen yogurt in one hand and the remote control in the other. My body seemed to sink into the softness of the sofa, after the long week.

            “Adam! Come on! Are we gonna watch or not?” It was Sunday night, and we were about to take part in our Sunday night tradition. No, not football, but cartoons. We would watch two hour marathons of cartoons together every Sunday, it seemed to be something that collected us at the end of the week.

“I’m coming!” He ran into the room iPad in hand, and plopped on the couch beside me. Adam was a cuddler, there was no doubt about that, but I didn’t mind. I loved to cuddle.

“You think it’ll be a good episode tonight?”

“Yeah, it looked like it’d be funny.” We sat on then couch anxiously awaiting our cartoons. Then, the football game went into overtime. “When will this stupid thing end? I wanna watch cartoons. This is terrible.”

“Tieerr-able,” I teased. Adam gave he a good punch in the arm for that, which was returned with a, “What the hell was that for? I was just kidding.”

“I told you I don’t like that. You guys always make fun of me.”

“Adam, I only do it because I love you and because it’s cute, the way you say it.”

“Rachel, I’m not a baby anymore.”

“You’ll always be my baby brother.” Just then the game ended, and the screen cut to commercials. “Finally.” After one commercial the show came on, but there was something familiar about the way the show had started.

“We’ve seen this one before! Really, we waited all this time to watch a repeat?” Adam then sank in defeat.

“I have an idea. I’ll tell mom to make popcorn and we can watch a movie, okay?”

“Fine, but I get to pick it.”

“Sure. What do you want to watch,” I asked, surfing through the “on demand” menu. “They have The Hangover.”

“I’ve seen it too many times.”

“They have The Help.”

“I am NOT watching that.”

“They have Barbie’s Christmas.”

“Oh yeah let’s watch that one,” Adam said in an overly sarcastic voice.

After what seemed like hours of this back and forth I finally said, “how about we watch Toy Story 3?”

“I’d watch that.”

“Good! You start the movie and I’ll get the popcorn.” I dashed into the other room where my mom was sitting at the counter sipping tea and chatting on the phone. Her conversation sounded rather serious, so I decided to leave her alone and walked back into the living room and turned off the lights. I always liked watching movies in the dark. “Mom’s busy. I’ll ask again when she’s off the phone.” I plopped next to Adam who immediately put his head on my shoulder. “You tired buddy?”

“Not really. I just wanted to snuggle.” In that moment I felt so happy with where I was and who I was with. Then my mother came in, turned on the lights and paused the movie. “What did you do that for?” Adam asked, sitting up.

“We should talk,” my mother started, I could tell something was wrong. “Your uncle Howie died.”

I jumped up from my seat and exclaimed “WHAT” in shock.

“It’s okay. The funeral will be this week. I want us to all go down as a family and support your grandma Carol.”

“When’s it gonna be, the funeral,” I asked.

“Wednesday or Thursday, I’ll let you know when I know.”

.I wasn’t happy but I wasn’t particularly devastated. It was the first day back from winter break and I was excited to see my friends but during every conversation a voice in the back of my head rang he’s dead, he’s dead, uncle Howie is dead. All day I thought of Thanksgiving at my uncle Howie’s house, playing in his elevator, getting rides on his motor scooter and the gentle giant that was my uncle Howie.

The funeral would be Thursday. I looked forward to that Thursday like a five year old waiting for a dentist- anxious, nervous and all around upset.

Wednesday was uneventful. I picked my outfit for the funeral, did my schoolwork and prepared for the next day.

The last time I had been to a funeral it was my cousin’s grandfather on the other side of the family. While I was sad for their loss, it wasn’t something that had hit me at the time. I still believe that it was because I was only 13 years old, and didn’t have much of a relationship with him anyway. Uncle Howie was different. He was a man whom I had known well my whole life. When he died I felt a few regrets. I regretted that I hadn’t said goodbye, I regretted that as much as I loved him, I had never really known him and as silly as it sounded, even to myself, I regretted that he had died without knowing where I would go to college.

Thursday came and I got into my funeral outfit. My mother was holding herself together surprisingly well for someone who had just lost their uncle, someone who had been a constant force in her life. On the way to the funeral we found a shopping mall. To be honest, I’m not sure why we stopped. I think my mother had to go to be bathroom, but it went from a bathroom trip to a shopping trip. My mother and I went into a hippie shop which we both found amusing. After the small shop my mother, Adam and I filed into Old Navy, where of course my mother and I started shopping, which ended with our purchasing fuzzy socks, shirts and chocolate straws. We drove another fifteen minutes until we reached the temple.

I walked into the temple and right away I saw my cousin Jess and my aunt Marjory who gave us warm hugs. All around the temple were cousins, aunts, uncles, and strangers. The only people I didn’t see were my grandma Carol and my Zaydee.

Since we were closely related to my uncle we sat in the second row. I was seated two seats into the aisle, sandwiched between my cousin Jess and Adam, facing the casket. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around, it was my cousin Jessica (yes, another cousin Jessica; I would normally try to distinguish between the two by last name but they were both Jessica Levey so it was Jess and Jessica). I hadn’t seen Jessica since she was my age and I was eight.

“Hi Rachel. I haven’t see n you in so long,” she said in her thick accent.

“I know, it’s been too long, “ I said.

Then she asked the dreaded question, the question that made me realize that my life was at a tipping point. It brought up  thick anxiety in my throat. I didn’t want to answer, but she asked sweetly. “Do you know where you are going to college yet?”

I stumbled before finding a way to answer her without choking on my words. “No, I’ve gotten into a few places, but I don’t know where I’m going yet.”

“Okay,” she said, and turned to her boyfriend. Then I turned back towards the casket. In the extremely crowded room, I felt more alone than I ever had in my life. I felt as though I was in a tunnel with just me and the casket. It was an odd feeling to see the box that held my uncle. He was so alive, and the box seemed so empty.

As I listened to the eulogies, I got a sense of the side of my uncle I had never known. My whole life he had been wheelchair bound, so to hear about the times he could walk seemed almost unreal to me. I never knew about his years at the candy company, or his baseball career, or his best friend, affectionately known as “little How.”

When the service was done we went to cemetery. On the way we got separated from the procession, but we stayed calm and made it to the cemetery on time for the service. We said a few prayers and listened to the official. I saw a row of my family sitting in front of my uncle’s casket, as it laid in the grave.

In Jewish tradition it’s considered a good deed to shovel dirt on the grave. I walked up to the grave and went down the line. I gave my grandparents, my aunt and my cousins hugs. Then I went to the pile of dirt, scooped a large mound and tossed it onto the grave. When I heard the dirt thud on the casket, I knew it was over.

On the way home I reflected on what had just happened. I could not imagine how my grandmother felt. Carol and Howie were so close, the same way Adam and I were. Carol took care of Howie, just like I took care of Adam. How would I be able to handle eventual Adam’s death?

Then my mind turned to a picture I had seen of my uncle Howie attending my grandma’s college graduation and wondered how he felt when she left the house. How will Adam feel when I leave? How will I be able to leave him? I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want it to happen. Adam seemed to be the only thing I wasn’t ready to leave behind. So I looked at the dark highway, ear buds blasting, ignoring my inevitable future.