anthology

Untitled

Kathy Thompson

You know how events or circumstances in life can change what you thought was your life's course? How one moment in time can alter your entire perspective of the entire world? For me, that moment was when my adopted son called me "MOM" for the first time.

I was thirty years old, and according to society was getting past child bearing age and must marry and conceive before it was too late. This was sixteen years ago, long before it became "trendy" have children out of wedlock, or past thirty-five years of age. When I met my betrothed, I knew instantly he was not the man of my dreams. However, he was a big, handsome, smooth talking guy looking for anyone who would have him. After a whirlwind dating period of eight months we were married. I was pregnant, which was absolutely unspeakable for me. I was after all the "good" girl. I would have never do something as unethical as getting knocked up before I was married. Sadly, four months into the pregnancy I lost my first baby, two months prior to our wedding.

Story #1

Linda Wolff

The ice swirls awkward circles in the cocktail glass. I wait for the cool liquid to settle and then take a drink of my Tanqueray and tonic. Standing at the kitchen window, I look out to see the wind pushing the branches of the sumac tree into myriad directions, resembling what much of my life had been like over this last year. To be honest, my life has actually been like this for a long time. It's amazing the level of dysfunction one can get used to living every day, over the span of many decades. I can still hear the dry perfunctory voices of the divorce lawyers echo in my ears, a distant cacophony. Jim's red-angry tones return to my ears, sounding far more hot and immediate. Many of his veiled threats and enraged rebuttals still make me want to grab my middle and double over, that figurative fetal position is a reflection of the deep emotional coma I'd been in for so long.

On the Way to Church

Maggie Sweeny

I was fifteen, dressed in black polyester skirt and an orange-red polyester zip-up-the-front shirt-like jacket. It was June, and I was ready for work. My job was serving in the snack bar at Oakwood, an upscale Jewish Country Club. Kids, my age, came into the snack bar and ordered whatever they wanted to eat. Then they charged it. That was always a bit of a mystery to me. My father loved to brag that his children went to Catholic School by working at the Jewish country club.

My mother offered to take me to work that day, but thought we should go to church first. I thought that was odd, "Why go to church when it isn't Sunday?"

Untitled

Randy Thomas

I am not sure how many times I have given clear, precise thought to the business of living and dying. I mean the actual thinking and knowing that death is a part of my life in an imminent manner.

I am certain that after the beginning of May of 99 I began thinking of living and dying in an entirely different manner. My friend Lauren, beautiful Lauren, has a malignant brain tumor nestled and growing in her brain stem. Cancer is such an invasion of life, of health and of loving. It is the unwelcome guest that never leaves. I have come to learn that it is the location of this invader that is so critical to the outcome of this disease. Three mm's can decide this living or dying issue. It reminds one of the old adage in real estate...location, location, location is everything.

All of my stories have escaped me. I used to have marvelous stories to tell of new beginnings, new friendships, travels and adventures of distant lands. Even everyday occurrences had a ring to them, a great story to be told. My life read like the glossy photo filled pages of National Geographic, now I can barely manage a life worthy of a National Enquirer tale.

Accusations

C. Smith

Accusations filled the air. She stood before me pointing her finger directly at my chest like a sword ready to pierce my heart. She claimed I formed judgments without accurate information balking with a clenched rage, "You condemned me. You have no understanding of my life. I see it in your looks and gestures. I hear it in the tone of your voice." The barrage of statements lasted for what seemed an eternity and yet I can't even recall the details. All I remember was my fury.

I began my own litany of accusations. "You were this.., and you did that..." I attacked each time she paused for a breath of the acidic air that filled the room. She was absolutely right I did not have an understanding of her life, but she had no right to judge me. Was this not what she so admittedly opposed? Judge, who was I to judge? I inadvertently showed my frustration when her life began to creep into mine, causing anxiety and distress. Backed into a corner, I hurled words like a boxer's left jab with an occasional right punch, hitting her squarely in the gut. I wanted to hurt her and I was bound and determined to show her how very wrong she was. Finally, I had control, or did I?

Although frequently tendered as an entertaining children's story, Green Eggs and Ham is much more. When viewed from the psychologically critical point of view, Dr. Seuss' simple tale of Sam-I-Am's promotion of a unique dietary delicacy can be interpreted with relative accuracy as a social criticism. The story, Green Eggs and Ham, is actually a commentary on the societal pressures of conformity and one individual's attempt, though futile, to usurp the will of the society.

I'm late. I took the wrong way to get here, don't remember the name of the obscure airline she's booked on, and am sketchy on the city she flew from. I finally arrive at her gate after having embarrassed myself by admitting to several ticket agents that, "I seem to have lost my friend." I'm not just late, I'm 45 minutes late. At this point, I'm muttering to myself, swearing periodically at my stupidity, knowing that she is a nervous traveler and that I should have been better prepared. She will be angry and will let her annoyance ring clear. As I stride up to her gate, a flight attendant tells me her flight is just arriving. Relief.

"OH, NO! OH, NO!" she writhed in turmoil, only it was all on the inside. Mustn't let anyone notice her agony, she couldn't call attention to herself in any way. However, now that she was settled in her desk before class, she would have to get up and go out again, something she'd never done.