Month: September 2017

Photographs Of Me – Another Snippet

I carry a large white envelope in the crook of my left arm.

“Photographs of me,” I whisper to my Friend.

The trees and rocks appear crisp and solid. My face is in none of the photographs on the polished tables in the living room and hanging on the wall above the stairs. Neither do I appear in the family photograph that resides in a golden frame in next to the woman’s bed.

The man is sitting on the porch.

“Look, Daddy,” Claire says. “We got our school pictures.”

She shoves her envelope into the man’s hand.

“Did you bring me anything?” Ames and Charles demand.

“You’re home early,” Eve says.

“I finally sold the garage.” His voice is gruff. “I deserve a little time off.”

He strokes Claire’s hair, “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

He reviews each child’s photographs. Finally, he peers at my prints for a long moment.

“You could be a model when you grow up,” he says.

“I Wanna Bi-i-te You!” – A Snippet

Why are you in here alone?” the man asks from the door of the playroom. “Come read in the living room.”

I carry my book into the other room. Eve is playing the piano. The woman is embroidering and watching Claire sew two pieces of fabric together. I sit in the rocker. Under cover of my book, I suck my thumb.

“Take your thumb out of your mouth!” the man says.

I pull my thumb out and continue reading.

“Your legs are so tender and delicious, I’ll just have to eat them all up.” The man is sitting on the floor with Ames nibbling his calves.

Ames gushes, “Do it again, daddy! Do it again!”

The man nips his legs again.

He looks up and sees me watching, “Come here. Let me see your legs.”

I hesitate. He lunges forward, grabs my arm, and pulls me onto the floor. He pushes up the leg of my jeans and bites me.

“No!” I cry. “You’re hurting me!”

I push at him, struggle to escape. He puts one leg over my body. I continue to struggle.
He smacks my thigh, “That didn’t hurt you! Ne fais pas le bébé!”

He bites again and again. Finally he releases me. My legs are covered with angry, red welts.

I see his leg between his sock and trouser. I lunge and sink my teeth into him. He jumps. Sobbing, I say, “I wanna bi-i-te you! I wanna bi-i-te you!”

The man hold me at arms length, laughs, mimics me, I wanna bi-i-te you!” Then, “Bébé! I didn’t hurt you!” He smacks my bottom. “Go change for bed.”

The woman’s voice stalks me as I limp from the room, “I wanna bi-i-te you!”

I Want To Sing Like That

New people fill the pews. I stare at the big, empty table inscribed with ‘This Do In Remembrance Of Me.’

Do what?

People in long blue robes march in singing “I am on the battlefield for my Lord, I’m on the battlefield for my Lord; And I promised Him that I would serve Him till I die. I am on the battlefield for my Lord.” A bald man, punching the air in time to the music, precedes them.

My feet itch to prance in the aisle. I prance in my heart where only my Friend sees. Some of the new people clap and sway.

One voice rises up, “Ay-I took the Master-er’s hand, A-and I joined the Christian band, Ay-’m on the battlefield fo-or-or my-ay-ay-ay-ay Lord.” Her voice wrenches my heart.

I want to sing like that.

A Woman Whose Face Looks Like Mine – Snippet

We stand and sing: “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.” The woman’s voice, so beautiful alone, screeches amid the other voices. I wince. An old woman sings the words but doesn’t know the music. I wince again. The man prays for a long time. We prayed the wrong Lord’s Prayer.

The senior pastor stands, “Sit down, please.” When we are quiet he continues, “We all know, what with the woods development, it’s been difficult with so many moving away. Calvary Baptist is struggling too. The pastors and deacons from both have met and prayed together. We really believe God is calling us to join both churches into one. Over the next weeks, we’ll start the transition that will bring us all together.”

There are fried Spam sandwiches instead of soup for lunch. Afterwards, we settle in the living room for the Sunday movie. It’s in black and white. I sit tailor fashion on the floor, absorbed in Mary’s visits to Bernadette.

“Don’t sit so close to the TV.”

I jump.

“What’s wrong with you?” the man asks. “Why are you so jumpy? What can you be thinking about?”

I remain silent. An image hangs in my mind: A woman whose face looks like mine. Her scent is still in my nose. Her long, dark hair falls rippling down to her waist. She laughs and I laugh too. She sings to me; I almost hear the words.

Gerard asks with a sneer, “Can Mary come to earth as God’s messenger?”

The man replies, “Yes — if God wills it.”

Sewing Machine – Another Snippet

There is a humming sound downstairs. I dress myself in robe and slippers and tip toe down the steps. The woman has removed the embroidered cloth from a small table. She leans over it working at a white machine.

“What is that?” I ask drawing close.

The woman jumps. “Oh! You’re awake!,” she said. “Can’t you sleep?”

I’m always awake, I think. I ask aloud, “What is that?”

“My sewing machine,” she says. “I’m making you a dress for your first day of school.”

She lifts a cornflower blue dress and a cream coloured cotton pinafore printed with yellow flowers and liver-spotted cocker spaniel puppies.

“Do you like it?” she asks. “I dyed Claire’s old yellow dress but there are still spots so I added the pinafore to cover them.” I stoke one of the spaniels. “Do you like the pockets?” she asks.

“Oh yes,” I say and blink away a tear. I glance at the television. “There’s no colour? Is it broken?”

“That’s an old movie. Old movies aren’t in colour.” She smooths the pinafore fabric then tilts her head and asks, “Are you hungry? Would you like some ice cream?”
I nod.

She goes to the kitchen and returns with two bowls of vanilla ice cream.

We eat and watch in silence. When I finish, the woman takes my bowl and says, “Back to bed with you. But first wash your face and hands and brush your teeth.”

A Snippet

You must have a nap today,” the woman says. “I can hardly wake you each morning, you’re sleepy all day.”

After lunch, she sends me to my room. I climb under the large bureau, place my throat over the stretcher, and wait for the executioner. As I wait, I suck my thumb and rub my private area. My Friend strokes comfort into my back.

“When will the executioner come?” I whisper. The executioner will chop off my head.

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