The Drummer

~Here is a little one act play that I have written!  This is my first time dappling in the art of play writing, but it was so much fun!  I think I did a good enough job for it to be at least understandable. All I have to say is: "I wrote a hit play! What did you ever do?" -Rushmore ~

The Drummer

by Beatrice L.

Characters

Indiana: The bands photographer who is quiet and collected, but doesn't like being told what to do.  Although she prefers flying under the radar she is still a team player.

Cesar: The lead singer of the band.  He is very over dramatic and narcissistic.  Despite this, on stage he is a charming and cool.

Hal: The bands guitarist.  A very sweet good-natured guy who believes in Indiana’s talents.  Can be flamboyant and corny at times.

Katie: The band manager who is responsible and very kind.  She is bubbly and always keeps things positive.

SCENE 1

(Three band members and their photographer are backstage in the green room, waiting for their irresponsible drummer to show up.  They are about to go on stage and CESAR is pacing the floor while HAL tries calling the late drummer)

HAL: He doesn't seem to be answering

CESAR: Where is he! My god I'm going to kill him!

HAL: He’ll be here! Don't worry...

CESAR: God damnit. He is always pulling BS like this! What are we gonna do!

(KATIE enters with clipboard)

KATIE: Guys...Five minutes till show.  I don't want to jinx anything but maybe start coming up with a creative solution!

CESAR: SOLUTION! What solution! How can we play without a drummer? How can a rock band play without its crappy drummer?!

KATIE:(Shrugs) Well, we have to do something!

CESAR: This is STUPID! I don't want to deal with this, its beneath me!

HAL: Guys-

KATIE: How about we get someone from one of the other bands to play?

HAL: Hey you guys-

CESAR: They’re not gonna want to play two sets, thats insane!

HAL: YOU GUYS! Why don't we get Indiana to play?  She took drumming lessons as a kid?

(Indiana is sitting on the couch playing with her camera, she looks up)

INDIANA:(confused) What?

KATIE: Oh Indiana! Thats perfect!

CESAR:Wait wait wait, she USED to play the drums?

HAL: (to INDIANA) Do you know the songs?

INDIANA: Well pretty much but...

CESAR: PRETTY MUCH?

KATIE: We don't really have a choice! Indie, you’ll be fabulous!

(KATIE exists with a flustered CESAR, going to the stage)

INDIANA: Hold on! I don't even want to play the stupid show!

HAL: (puts hand on INDIANA’s shoulder) Indiana, we need you

(INDIANA rolls eyes)

SCENE 2

(The band walks out on stage and the crowd cheers.  It is a small smoky and crowded room filled with shadowy faces.  Indiana has a music stand with all the song sheets on them, she looks nervous.  Cesar takes the microphone.)

CESAR:(clears throat)Hello, hello! Isn't this a fine looking crowd! So it seems we have a little surprise tonight.Since our regular drummer is a huge bastard, our usual photographer will be taking his place tonight! Lets give a round of applause to INDIANAAAAA!!!!

(Slow awkward claps)

CESAR: She hasn’t played the drums since she was a teenager and has never before played our songs. (silence) I'm kidding of course! Let’s do this!

( The band begins playing and INDIANA is struggling.  The crowd seems to notice the mistakes.)

HAL: Don't worry Indie, you're doing great!

INDIANA: I...am...NOT doing great! ( trying to concentrate)

CESAR: (in the middle of the song) You know what I want? I’m in the mood... for a hardcore DRUM SOLO!

(BEAT.  Not knowing what to do,INDIANA goes crazy smashing drums and cymbals with no rhyme or reason. At the end she pushes over the drum kit with a bang.  BEAT.  Everyone goes nuts and the room explodes with cheers.)

SCENE 3

( The band is running back into the green room, everyone is thrilled with the performance)

HAL: That was AMAZING!

KATIE: You DID do fabulously, Indiana!

INDIANA: That was pretty fun!

CESAR: You had fun?

INDIANA: I just said-

CESAR: You’re hired

INDIANA: I’m hired?

KATIE: Welcome to the band! (tries to hug INDIANA)

INDIANA: Hey I never accepted!

HAL: Yay! We have never had a drummer who could do a good solo! You're a god, Indie!

CESAR: Lets not go that far, I'm the only god in this band

INDIANA: What if I don't wanna be in your dumb band!

(Silence)

HAL: Well do ya?

(INDIANA looks around at all the smiling faces.  She purses her lips in suspense)

INDIANA: Sure

END OF PLAY

An announcement

 I have a very exciting announcement! Me and the fam just adopted our first pet!
What sort of pet you might ask? A RACCOON! He is the cutest thing and we love him dearly :)

that's him ^ We decided to call him Jeffery <3

Just thought I'd share the latest!

A Love Story (Part 2)

~Here is the second half of my romance story with Alfonzo!  Find out if we lived happily ever after or if our relationship faltered (I think you could guess).  Enjoy my story and comment :) ~  
     The "Welcome" mat was edged with soft green moss.  I held my breath as Alfonzo pushed open the door.  I didn't know it then but this would be my first time meeting my family in law and business partners.
      The living room was cozy, furnished with plush couches and soft Persian rugs.  Alfonzo asked me to sit while he made us some tea.  I sat down slowly still clutching awkwardly to the handle of my bulky suitcase.
      "Hey guys!" Alfonzo yelled from the kitchen, "My lovely girlfriend is here!".  I blushed at the word "girlfriend" when suddenly there was a stampede crashing down the stairs and I was being bombarded with hugs and hellos.  His family was so incredibly sweet.
      There was his mother, at the time with long brown hair tied in a bun that has since become gray at the roots.  I remember meeting her for the first time and noticing her impeccable smile and voluptuous curves.  His father was a stick thin man who almost always had a cigarette hanging out his mouth.  Maria, his sister and now one of my best friends, was a strikingly delicate girl with a fire in her eyes.  She was the one to calm me in this overwhelming whirl of meet and greets.
      "Let me show you to your room while Alfonzo gets the tea ready" Maria released the suitcase from my iron grip.  The house was so sweet, all the rooms were filled with sunlight and the beds covered with hand made quilts.  My room was adjacent to Alfonzo's.  After setting my stuff down we went back down stairs where the whole family was sitting around the living room with warm cups of tea.  Alfonzo motioned for me to sit next to him and we spent the night discussing dreams and reliving sweet memories.
      I can remember the exact moment I fell in love.  I woke up early, before anyone else.  I decided to take a walk down to the beach.  The stone path was dimly lit by swaying lanterns and the trees stretched there limbs, waking from slumber.  When I got to the cliff leading down to the beach the light was so beautiful and the sky was just the perfect amount of cloudy.  I felt different here.  I can vividly recall standing on the rocky beach, pebbles crunching under my feet, staring out at the ocean.  I was in love with this country and there was no way I was going back to live in America.  ~~~
   
     I spent several months in the Wales cottage, dropped out of school and soon got married to Alfonzo.  His family business was thriving and I agreed to help as a manager.  We moved to London soon after so I could help with their new branch and it was such an amazing adventure where I got to work with amazing people.  Alfonzo picked up a job too, as a shoe repair man.  He is surprisingly very happy with his work and we always have the nicest shoes.
       We were ready to start a family, but to anxious to wait for the birthing process.  So we got to work filling out forms to adopt.  We ended up with five beautiful little children whom we love dearly; two boys and three girls.  Adopting was the most humbling and purifying thing I have ever experienced.
        We have filled our secluded house with love and happiness and I could not adore my family more.  All I know is that my life took blossom on that the faithful day in Psychology rm 204 where I met my husband and everyday since has been a beautifully maturing flower.

Lists

~For me it has always been calming to make lists and organize my thoughts.  Here are some lists of things I enjoy and categories that have interested me~

My personal favorites:

1 Cookies
2 Movies
3 TEA
4 Writing
5 Foxes
6 Reading a good book
7 My family
8 kittens <3
9 Rain
10 the beach

People who have inspired me:

1 Wes Anderson
2 Jack London
3 John OCallaghan
4 Amy Poehler
5 My family
6 My friends
7 Richard Ayoade
8 Simon Amstell
9 Jim Henson
10 Myself

Places I would like to go:

1 Brazil
2 Venice, Italy
3 India!
4 Australia
5 Prague, Czech Republic
6 Iceland
7 Barcelona, Spain
8 South Africa
9 Egypt
10 Germany

Things in people which I like:

1 Compassion
2 Intelligence
3 Friendliness
4 Similar humor as mine
5 Adventurous
6 Trustworthy
7 Peaceful attitude
8 Sincerely humble
9 Good music taste
10 Love of music

Things in people which I dislike:

1 Mean
2 Rude
3 Bad manners
4 Superiority complex
5 Phoneyness
6 Ignorant
7 Unflexible
8 Lots of anger
9 Braggy
10 No sense of self

Things that worry me:

1 DEATH
2 Ruining my life somehow
3 Growing up
4 Never fulfilling my dreams
5 SCHOOL
6 Getting eaten by a shark
7 Everyone leaveing
8 Everything
9 Bugs getting into my mouth at night
10 the state of the human race

Things I would like to know how to do:

1 Juggle
2 Spell perfectly
3 Sew
4 Play the guitar
5 Work technology
6 Cook wonderfully
7 SING
8 Magic tricks
9 Make people adore me
10 Survive in the wild

Favorite movies:

1 Submarine
2 The Darjeeling Limited
3 Elizabeth town
4 The Princess Bride
5 Harold and Maude
6 The Royal Tenebaums
7 The Incredibles
8 Little Miss Sunshine
9 The Breakfast Club 

How to Stay Sinngle

~this is a poem I wrote as a teen girl who was still very confused about boys and relationships.  Its a silly, humorous piece that was lots of fun to write.  I hope you like it~

First off
Try to always avoid boys
If they try talking to you
Be sure to look bored and pissed off
The best way to steer clear of conversation
Is to simply not reply

Wear mostly sweatshirts
And show as little skin as possible
If necessary, don't brush your hair
Leave little tangles at the end to say:
Stay away, I'm wild!

Try to miss any event
Where hormonal boys will be abundant
If you find yourself in an unintended public situation
Be sure you're with people who are generally
more attractive to the male species
"Forgetting" to shave your legs is always helpful

Do not listen to love songs!
Do not talk about him with your friends!
Do not think about his hands running over
his soft hair!
Just sit in your peaceful boy-free room
And read Edgar Allen Poe or something

A Love Story (Part 1)

~One of my most favorite love stories, is my own. So this is the story of how Alfonzo and I met and fell deeply in love.  Remember kids, the best love stories are the ones that last forever!~

       I had just transferred from Alaska University to a private college in California, on account that my family had run into quite a bit of money when my grandfather found oil in his backyard.  The school was in San Francisco, a city I had loved growing up.  It had been so long since I had been in California and even though I was all alone with no family members, I was happy.
     This is where I met Alfonzo.  We were in the same psychology class and on the first day he sat next to me and said "You are very pretty" and that was all.  Class was beginning so I had no time to respond.  I tried to keep my cool, but I was intrigued by this young man.  He had an English accent, or so I thought, but also a very dark completion and black hair, long enough to reach the top of his neck.  He was wearing a yellow sports coat and suspenders, yet all this time I spent analyzing him he never even once glanced over at me.  After class, as I was gathering my book bag, he tapped me on the shoulder.
     "Would you like to get something to eat?" he said.  I agreed and we left together as he told me about some diner that he loved.  He had a yellow Datsun car, a similar color to his jacket.  I can remember that night very fondly.  It was raining like crazy and he was driving much faster than necessary.  When we reached the diner, the rain had stopped and we took a short stroll, hopping puddles and avoiding drops from extending tree branches.  The diner was sweet and small and all the waitresses rode around on their roller skates.  We both ordered a hamburger and fries.
     Ketchup was dripping down my chin, "Still think I'm pretty?" I joked.
     "Certainly" he said "One of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen.  You said your name was Beatrice?  Such an elegant name to fit your elegant structure".  It seemed like he was probably bullshitting all this but nothing was more desirable to me than when someone could appreciate my perfect name.  He talked like a poet and moved like an actor, and I had never felt better or worse than when I was with him.
     So we continued going on spontaneous little dates, sometimes to the diner, sometimes to the movies but always planned on the way there.  This was driving me crazy because I quite like to prepare for things and establish routines or plans.  I was one date away from calling it off when he told me he had to go back to Wales, where his family was.  I was surprised how sad I was to hear the news but he left soon after without much fuss.
      A week or so later I received a letter from him in the mail.  It was sealed in a leaf green envelope and hand written.  While I had thought we had broken up, this letter proved different.  I had never heard any man be so freely open about his emotions as he described his situation.  We began corresponding through the mail.  To me this is the most romantic thing a couple could do, as they say absence makes the heart grow fonder but letters keeps the intimacy alive.  Its like you can crawl through the letters and curl up inside the mind of the writer, living off their vocabulary and breathing the shape of their handwriting.  Our letters became longer and fuller and I started to realize how much I loved this young man.
      As my sophomore year as a college student came to a close I remember feeling suddenly depressed and lonely.  The letters from Alfonzo were becoming less frequent.  He was very busy at the time helping to keep his family business of yarn manufacturing alive.  At last I received a letter from him, it was surprisingly much shorter than his last letter.  It read only five words: "I want to see you".  Enclosed was a plane ticket to Wales.
     I arrived at the Wales airport at four in the afternoon with only one suitcase.  Alfonzo was there to pick me up in his yellow Datsun (you cant imagine all the crap he had to go through to get the car shipped over to the UK).  We drove to his family cottage out in the hills, it was a relatively cloudy day and the air smelled nice and fresh.  The family cobblestone cottage was in Swansea and had the most beautiful view of the ocean.  Alfonzo got my suitcase out of his trunk and invited me inside to meet the family......

TO Be Continued

Vignette

~ This is my first vignette! If you are not familiar with the word "vignette", please feel free to Google it because I'm not sure how to explain it. This is about a revelation I had when I was younger, a true story. Please enjoy and leave a comment if you experienced a similar experience!~

I sat with my tiny legs crossed on the floor, tilting my head from side to side.   I had become enthralled with drawing on my Magnadoodle, a yellow plastic pad with a red magnetic pen that pulls the graney metal to the surface of the screen to create a fuzzy image.  I would draw squiggly houses and disproportionate stick figures, then I washed the whole scene away with a quick sweep of the small handle.

Of course before I erased my art I would show my dear mother.  Her reaction was always similar, “Oh, thats nice sweetie” she said.  After my fifth drawing and fifth nonchalant compliment I began to question the consistency of her reviews.

Pulling my stringy hair behind my ears with the tips of my fingers, I got to work to make the worst picture I could possibly make.  I took the red pen and scratched like a wild animal on the pad, the noise similar to the sound of buzzing bees, if bees were made out of plastic.  My end result was an out of focus blob of black.

Satisfied with my horrid work, I got up and adjusted my cotton shirt.  I ran into our tightly packed kitchen where my mother was washing presumably dishes over the sink that was too tall for me to see. She was wearing water splattered pajamas and looked pretty tired “Do you like my drawing?” I asked, showing her my crazy mess of lines.

“Thats nice sweetie” she stated.  I had my results.  My small brain now contained the information that no matter what I showed my mother she would compliment it.  I nodded my head slowly and walked back down the shadowy halls to my bright room. Gotcha, I thought.

Princess Alexandria

~I wrote this short character description about a sad princess.  I was inspired to write this piece when I heard this beautiful classical song playing on the radio.  She is a very interesting character if you ask me. Hope you enjoy~          
  Alex is a princess of a far away land where it snows nine months out of the year and rains the other three.  Princess Alexandria gets very lonely in her castle and rarely sees her parents or her older brother.  She sits in her room, and watches the snow piling while playing her violin.  The princess is confined to a wheelchair and has nothing to do but sit and practice her beautifully crafted violin.  She often wishes she could be normal, and run outside to meet all of the children playing in the snow. They could roll in the snow and catch snowflakes on their tongues, Alex and her friends.  She only have one real friend, Anne, the maid.  She is very kind and old and comes to take care of Alex and give her food.  Alex likes to tell Anne about all the things shes been thinking about and convinces Anne to let her wheel fast down the long hallways of the castle, like she is racing the wind, wiping around corners and diving past corridors.   Alexandria will always ask Anne if they could go outside today. "Oh, Princess" Anne smiles "You can't go outside. The wheels of your chair would freeze".  And so they stay inside and Alex plays the violin.  She is the best violinist in all the land, and the only time she get lots of company is when Anne takes her into grand hall and people from the town come to hear Alexandria play.   She loves when they cheer for her and chant her name.
           Alex is smart, she knows she will never take her parents place as ruler since her brother is older and has two working legs.  So she reads, trying to retain as much knowledge as possible before she has to face her unpredictable future.  Her room is filled with books from floor to ceiling and she reads about knights in shining armor and adventures on the sea.  She favorite stories are the ones where heroic women defeat evil with their sharp wit.   She prefers when they live in hot, sunny places and take long walks to ponder their thoughts, for she knows the cold too well. At heart she is courageous and daring.  She wonders what it would be like to travel the world, to see flowers and rivers and blue skies.
           Sometimes she does wonder what the future will hold and is afraid she knows her fate will be another prince in a neighboring country, a sad life of unhappy relations and meaningless ceremonies.  Yet she must be kept in this wheelchair and it is possible that they will keep she here, in this white castle, for the rest of her life.  If only she could escape for just a day, to feel a bruise on her delicate skin and taste excitement instead of the numbness that consumes her.
         But for now all she can do is play the sweet strings of her violin, letting the music say what is trapped inside her heart.  She dreams that one day she will be able to share her music with people all over the world.

The Harp

~I wrote this story based of a Harris Burdick picture (if you are not familiar with Burdick, I encourage you to research him).  The picture was of a harp on the side of a river in a beautiful and lush forest.  The caption was "So it's true, he thought. It's really true".  This story has a fairy tale feel and I hope you find it magical :) ~

The Harp

Once upon a time, there lived a young man in a land far away.  He was a humble radish farmer making just enough money to keep a small plot of land where he lived alone.  The man was kind at heart and hardworking, but he felt unsatisfied with his life.  Every morning he would get up, collect his radishes and take them to the market.  Then he would come home and eat whatever he couldn’t sell and go to bed early to wake up early the next day.  Yet he always felt there was something bigger and more important waiting for him.

One day, when he was at the market, he overheard an elderly woman telling her grandson a tale about a magical harp that lay deep in the forest.  The woman said the harp had strange powers and who ever could climb the mountain and survive the forest would be able to play the harp.

“Excuse me madam” the young farmer interpreted, “What happens when the harp is played?”

The woman smiled “Whoever plays the harp will inherit greatness.  Ultimate strength and intelligence”

“Has anyone played the harp before?” asked the farmer.

“Who’s to say? Many have made the trip up the mountain, but none have returned.”

“Come on grandma, let’s go” said the small boy, tugging on his grandmothers sleeve.  The farmer was intrigued by the story.  As he was walking home he wondered if the story could possibly be real and what it would be like to have ultimate strength and intelligence.  He imagined a better life for himself where he could live in a big house with a pretty wife.  He could have a brilliant job in business or something of that nature. He would have friends and he would never be lonely again.  He was convinced, so the next day he packed a sack of food and tools and started his journey up the mountain, into the forest.  Soon, the farmer found how difficult the hike was.  He was scrambling up rocks and crawling up long steep hills.  When darkness fell the farmer found it was safest to sleep in the trees, out of reach from creepers and crawlers.  The screeches and howls kept him awake at night.  When traveling he felt fatigue, noticing his low supply of food and clean water.  The more he walked, the more confused he got, trees became too similar and he was certain he had past this spot before.  Lost and tired, the farmer was beginning to think the harp didn't even exist.

He had been in the forest for almost three days now when he reached the edge of a breath taking river.   He was just about ready to give up and turn around.  As he knelt down to the cool river to wash his face, suddenly he saw it.  Reflected in the water, the harp shimmered on the river bank, overgrown with moss and vines.  So it true, he thought, its really true.

He got up to approach the harp when suddenly a tiny man sprung from out from the trunk of a tree and he had a sharp little sword. “I am the protector of the harp! I live in this forest.  If you come too close I will have to kill you! I have killed many before” yelled the small man.  But the farmer was too tired to fight so he sat down on a stump and began eating his last radish. The small man came closer to him “Will you not fight?”

“No” said the farmer “Would you like some radish?”  The small man nibbled the radish and nodded.

“I will not kill you” said the little man, “you look hungy? Shall I bring you some more food?”, the farmer noded.  The little man went into his tiny tree house through a miniature door on the side of the trunk.  His tiny windows lit up and then he came out again with a plate full of food.  The farmer was very grateful and wolfed down the meal.

The small man smiled “ I like you, and I will permit you to play the harp if you so choose.  The farmer was jumping up and down with excitement.  He walked over to the harp and sat down to play.  “I hope you know what you're getting yourself into” said the small man.

The farmer looked up “What do you mean?”

“Well,” the little man said leaning against a rock “Ultimate knowledge is no walk in the park. Some things are not meant to be known.  And ultimate strength comes with ultimate responsibility.”

“Responsibility?” the farmer eyed the golden harp.

“Oh yes. People will constantly need your assistance.  You will be like a superhero...that is until your strength is out of your control and you break the thing you love”

The farmer grimaced “Well how about ultimate knowledge.  That is sure to lead me to a successful life?”

“Like I said,” the small man licked his red fingers, “Not everything is meant to be know. Like where the universe ends, or what happens to you when you die”  The farmer started to feel sick again.  “Yes, I don't think any man should know the truth about how radishes turn red”.

The farmer turned away from the harp and sighed.  The small man smiled and asked the farmer to stay a while and guard the harp with him.  So the farmer and small man became good friends and now every weekend the farmer comes to visit him with a fresh bunch of radishes. And they lived happily ever after.

A Collaboration

~here is a silly poem me and my good friend Allison wrote together.  Me and Allison love to meet up at cafes and throw around writing ideas.  This one was completed to the rules of a particular challenge.  See if you can spot the pattern~

Amazingly beautiful crowds,
Drifting, Entering, Flying

Going home.

I justify killing late moonlight nightmares
Nimbly obeying rebellion

Questioning resolutions
Saving the universe via wormhole

-Xavier
(Your Zebra)

5 quotes

~These are five short quotes that I have fallen in love with over the years.  They are humorous and inspiring and I thought I should share them with you, so you may also be inspired.  Attached to each quote is an explanation on what I love about it.~

“Always remember that you're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think” A.A. Milne

I love to read this quote when I’m feeling sad or lonely because it's so uplifting.  I have also always loved Winnie the pooh and he was something of a childhood hero for me.

“Mondays are fine. It’s your life that sucks”  Ricky Gervais

I thought this quote was really funny because it's sadly true. But when I read it I am reminded to strive for a life in which I love Mondays.

“Life’s like a movie, write your own ending. Keep believing, keep pretending” Jim Henson

Kermit is one of my most favorite characters of all time and I feel like if I remind myself of this quote everyday I would be a more optimistic and strong person.

“I wish you well on your pursuit of being” John O’Callaghan

From one of my favorite poets, I see this quote as personal encouragement to make myself great in this crazy world.

“Take off your colors, who are you wearing them for?” Josh Franceschi

Reminding me not to be something I’m not in order to please other and to just be me in my own skin.

Tired

~this is a short piece I wrote when I was tired but still needed to work.  It's very descriptive to the emotion yet without revealing what the exact emotion is.  I hope you are able to visualize what I am describing~

A silver cloud settles around your brain and you become numb.  You know you need to concentrate on your obligations but suddenly your head is more heavy than you remember it ever being and your sight becomes blurred.  Suddenly your mind begins to drift and images of fluffy pillows and wonderful dancing sheep fill your head, you begin to wander through the realm of your unconscious thoughts.  You have slipped into an illusion, your body has shifted from feeling very heavy to noticeably light and airy.  You can feel the breath of spirits on your face and it feels as if you could float if you wanted because you are so relaxed.  Then your head snaps back and the heaviness crashes upon you once again, like a wave.  Your eyelids are like lead, your body filled with sand.  The worst part is that you know you could have prevented this terrible disease by simply accepting the earlier proposal from your desirable bed, a proposal that no longer stands.

  

The Favorite

~I wrote this while reminiscing about my childhood and how painful it was to grow up. I wrote the whole thing from the prospective of my stuffed toy dog.  I hope you enjoy and can relate to my story~

I was the favorite.  Although Beatrice never said it out, I knew I was her favorite stuffed animal because I was the one who got to sit on the bed.  Me and Beatrice always had so much fun together when we would play and she would tell me everything.  I remember her first day of kindergarten, it was late at night and she cried and she cried loudly.  Her mother came in and hugged her and told her it would be alright and Beatrice squished me against her face.  Her mother always read her fantastic stories as we cuddled.  At eight thirty sharp her lights would be off and we would sleep under the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling.

She went to school and then she would come home and we would play games where her room turned into jungles.  My favorite game was when we would open a hotel and toys from far and wide would come to stay at our glamorous institution.  Beatrice had an endless imagination and was always coming up with a new situation for us to play out.

When she was gone I would lay and talk with the other stuffed animals who had to live in the basket even though they prefered the bed.  We would talk about Beatrice and all the things she had said to us about school.  We were happy.

Beatrice would come home with more and more homework every day and there was often very little time for a game.  When she came back from school she was always so tired and weak and she began forgetting us for the numbing television.  Soon there were more books and less toys and one by one my friends were disappearing and we hadn’t played a game in years and the hotel became dusty and our jungle was cut down.  Beatrice was changing and her eyes always looked swollen and her bed was never made.

Me and the remaining stuffed animals would talk when she was gone, which was becoming more and more often, about how we could help her.  It seemed like her imagination was being drained from her heart.  We wanted her to play again and smile with us and not always be flipping those big glossy books from page to page.  She didn't talk to us anymore but we heard her cracking voice when she talked about grades and friends and classes and I couldn't understand any of it.

Sometimes I would hear her cry at night from the foot of her bed.  But now her cry was soft and muffled and no one came to comfort her and she was all alone.  She went to bed quite late now and she came hunched over her glowing computer and she didn't even look at us.  She would eventually turn her own lights off with no story at twelve thirty sharp.  Her stars didn't glow anymore and we slept in darkness.

One day I was accidentally pushed off her bed and ended up underneath it but I was patient and waited for her to come get me.  She didn't.  Weeks past and then months and I was still under her bed getting wrinkly and cold.  I had not seen my friends in so long and I was beginning to think I would die here.

Then spring came and Beatrice was picking up all the stuff that had accumulated on her floor.  She began to shift through all the things under her bed and I held my breath with excitement.  Then she saw me and for a second I feared she would not even recognize me and throw me in her trash bag along with all the other junk but she didn't.  She gently picked me up and stared into my eyes and I stared into hers once again.  She held me tightly and laid down on her bed, her arms were far longer than I remember.  We stayed like that for a while and I was happy again.

That was the last time I felt her touch. Now she is gone and only comes back on holidays and I heard her mother says she was going to move us to garage.  My fur is not the same color as it used to be and I am sad and alone.  I cry loudly but still no one comes to comfort me.

The Rope Swing

~ Yesterday my kids, my husband and I, were taking a drive up to Wales to visit Alfonzo's mother and they were asking me for the millionth time about my childhood.  I suppose since they have never been out of Europe they have a lot of questions about life in the United States.  So I told them this story~

When I was eleven years old I met a girl named Lula at a summer camp.  We soon realized we were neighbors and after camp I would visit her frequently.  She had the most amazing house complete with a beautiful back yard.  I sent all my weekday afternoons playing in that backyard.  I would call it The Secret Garden because I always felt so inclosed.  Their yard was encircled with grand willow trees, protecting us from the outside world.  It wasn't a traditional backyard, they had bridges over a moving steams and trees taller than skyscrapers.  Everything was so green and bright and we felt alive.  Yet the absolute best part about her yard was the rope swing.  It was a good hundred feet long hanging from an extremely high branch.  To ride the rope properly, we would step way back and climb onto a smooth boulder. From there you had to muster up the courage to jump, just barely getting on to that small wooden seat.  And then you were soaring like a bird and you can feel the wind running by your hair and your teeth when you laugh.  The fear from that first leap is replaced with the exhilaration of flying and you never want to touch the earth again.  We would do this again and again until it got dark.

One day I came over and Lula's parents weren't home but I could see Lula sitting in the backyard on her blue lawn chair.  So we started our rope swing routine and as always Lula went first.  She always went so high, thrusting her feet into infinity.  I thought she was very brave. I was watching her swing to the tips of trees when suddenly her hands froze in mid air and the everything stopped except the rope that fell between her knees. She was no longer defying gravity and she it the ground like a meteor.  She was screaming so loudly and there was blood everywhere.  I stood there in shock when I saw her white bones sticking straight out of her elbows.  I felt like throwing up but then I got scared that she would die so I ran inside and I called all the numbers I could possibly think of then I went outside and dragged Lula to her lawn chair and told her everything was going to be alright.  Finally her parents and an ambulance came and took her away.  The next week I saw her with two enormous casts on her arms but she was okay.  I was the first one to sign her cast since I saved her life and all.

Ode to Complaining

~I wrote this poem when I was in high school about my love of complaining. It is pretty snarky and sarcastic which perfectly describes my high school self. The poem was based on the idea that complaining is often seen as a bad thing when really it can bring us together and make things better. Although I am older now and see I shouldn't waste my time complaining, I still understand how good it feels to complain~

Oh how I love to complain!

It gives me such power

The words sizzling on my lips

when I tell my mother

that the chicken is just too dry

There is nothing more pleasing

than when I slouch in my chair

and explain how painful it will be to have to take out the garbage

The collective sigh of the class

when a teacher assigns any sort of work

fills me with a bubbly feeling

The snarky comments of my friends

when we have to run the mile in PE

brings us together in a beautiful way

A devilish sentation overcomes me

knowing I been just the slightest bit more difficult

There are just so many awful things to complain about!

Crappy erasers, Smelly bathrooms

Barking dogs, Stale chips

I know I shouldn’t

because there are starving children in Africa

and no one has to leave the couch to change the channel anymore

But isn't it wonderful to gripe

about your sister eating the last cookie?