If a Body Catch a Body

 Response to Prompt #40

The narrator of this story is a character I created long ago. She is part of that novel draft -- well, kind of. She actually surfaced after I wrote the draft and was trying to figure out what to do with it. Her real name is Suzanna, but she goes by Zanna. She is a Catcher in the Rye freak. My intention is always to have her with a Holden Caulfield attitude, but I didn't focus on that too much here.

Much of this story surfaced in my daily poetry writing.  I'd read a poem and next thing I new, Zanna was relating to it. The character of James showed up on one of those days.  Much of what is here was found when I did that one page of writing every day, from January through July. The title of the story came to me a few weeks ago, and it has been longing to be written ever since.

I went back through and put a sticky note on all the related pages, and that is when I realized she uses Never and Always and Sometimes quite a bit. I also added some purposefully.

I am open to any feedback you have on this story. I just felt the need to get it down, and with the prompt it forced me to make it happen. I'm really glad, too. I've been putting it off.

If a Body Catch a Body

I’m not sure how I got up here or why. School ended for the day, and I walked outside, saw the tree, started to climb and just didn’t stop.  Now here I am, perched on the edge of a branch at least twelve feet off the ground, and everyone is screaming about it. They think I’m going to fall. 

And what if I did? Just this morning, these same fools were trying to push me down the stairs, calling me “snitch bitch” and making my life hell. You would think they would like to see me fall and just get it over with, once and for all.

But people like them are always inconsistent. Not an authentic bone in their rich, white bodies. Phonies. Yeah.  Just like my hero Holden says. People who are always ruining things for me.

The only thing found in darkness is more darkness.

**

Sometimes I swear I can feel the earth spinning. It hurts my head, and sets my heart in a fury.

My science teacher says it’s impossible, that there is no way we can actually feel the movement of the earth.

But I do.

I wrote a sonnet about it. My English teacher assumed it was a metaphor.

Uh, no.

I can barely hold on sometimes.

**

I never should have thought I’d have friends here. It was a stupid mistake to go out that night last weekend with people who said I could hang with them; they insisted they wanted me to be part of their group, and I wanted to believe them, wanted to fit in. But now I know it was all a farce. They don't give two shits about me.

They left me alone with him. He is the one they all wanted, or so they pretended, but they knew better.  I know they had to know. Privileged. Above it all. Basketball star. Thought he could take what he wanted, insisting that I wanted it, too, no matter how many ways I said no, no matter how many times I tried to get away. The fact that we had been drinking did not help this situation; he was bulging and ugly and became forceful. Fighting him off with my arms and legs I managed to get one hand free, two fingers to gouge at his eye to make him stop. It made him stop, but he left me alone, dumped me right there on the street, telling me I was a monster, pretending my attack was unprovoked. Asshole. I know attempted rape when I see it.

And then there was the police and my parents and his parents and He can no longer play basketball because of that wench and saying they’re going to sue because I’ve ruined his supposed career as a sports star, and all along everyone believes him and not me and I cannot change schools. I’ve begged. My mother says this will pass. Will it?

I’m new in this town, and new at this school, and I want to be anywhere but here. The girls who left him with me avoid me, act like they don’t know me. Other girls hiss How could you do that? What’s wrong with you, slut? It’s all your fault.  Guys trip me in the hall, push and shove me. Never mind the bruises I had already sustained from fighting the beast off; new ones just keep coming every day in this hellhole.

**

I’m sitting alone at lunch, trying to ignore the world around me by reading my favorite book Catcher in the Rye for like the fifth time. A guy I’ve never seen before approaches me. He has a smile on his face. I want to ignore him, but somehow I can’t. He says, “If a body catch a body.” I smile. I know the reference. He hands me a white pebble with the word TRUST written on it in Sharpie.  He says, I’m James.  Good to meet you Zanna. The bell rings, and he walks away. Who does that?

The next day he’s waiting for me when I arrive at school.  He is holding a large piece of sketch paper.  Here I made this for you.  It is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen: A gorgeous sketch of a tree in every color imaginable. But it isn’t just the part of the tree above the ground. It has an even amount of tree below ground – a mangled tangle of roots in a rainbow of colors, an underground of depth and intensity and somehow, desire.  I simply don’t know what to say.  I’ve always spent a great deal of my life raging against the fact that most people have no imagination. And now this massive amount of imagination all in one place, made just for me.

The darkness around me lifts. Just a little bit.

**

And now I sit on this tree branch, wondering how I got here and how I’m going to get down. I see James has arrived, joining the crowd. He looks up at me, smiles. Believe me, no one else is smiling. They’re pretty fed up with me.  The school resource officer has arrived and a few teachers, an administrator. I’m starting to think I’ll never come down. What’s the point? They’re starting to shout up to me that they’re calling my parents, and all kinds of other nonsense.  I just look at the sky. I’m not interested. And I’m surprisingly not scared. I think of Holden saying it is impossible to find a place that is nice and peaceful. This tree branch could have been, if all these phonies hadn’t shown up and started shouting at me.

Then I realize James has moved through the crowd and has started to climb the tree. He calls to me, Zanna, stay there and I’ll help you down. I watch as he makes his way up through the tree, mostly the same way I came up, and he gets as close as he can. He sits down and smiles again. Fancy meeting you here. For the first time in days, I giggle. Out of the corner of my eye I see the crowd of students is starting to disperse. I guess they’ve decided I’m not going to fall. Spectacle over.

And I’m thinking maybe the same thing.  Here is this light dimly glowing in the darkness next to me. Someone that seems willing to help me hold on. One who might be willing to will catch me when I start to fall off this spinning earth. I start to inch over and grab his hand to steady myself.  We take a beat to breathe together, then start to make our way down to solid ground.

We may never believe it can happen, but sometimes when you least expect it there really can be a catcher in the rye.

Never Say Never

I can't believe this is our 40th prompt! Here goes my response to Sometimes, Always, Never:

I will never drive a mini van (check).
I will never yell at my kids (uncheck).
I will never weigh more than 120 lbs.

Actually, my exact words were: If I ever weigh more than 120 lbs, I'll kill myself.


Oh, the dramatic statements of youth.

I'm obviously still alive and obviously over 120 lbs. Way over.

When I made this proclamation, I was a junior, maybe senior in high school, a svelte 117 lbs.--only because I watched every bite that went into my mouth, worked out daily, and had a job where I was on my feet for hours.  My measurements were quite ridiculous in retrospect: 28 (double A), 22, 35.5.
Yes, you read correctly. When puberty hit at the ripe age of 11, my hips expanded so abruptly I formed stretch marks. So, I was obsessed with keeping my weight down lest any fat formed around them and made them bigger. Finding 2-pieces at a time when mix and match wasn't a thing yet was impossible, so I went with high cut one-pieces. There was a specific term for them that's escaping me at the moment--I keep wanting to say Brazilian, but that's a wax, not a swimsuit.

These child-bearing hips were my nemesis. I wanted to wear a size 0 from the 5-7-9 Store, but I was lucky to squeeze those suckers into a 3.

I don't know when I passed the 120 mark, but I do remember being mid-120's in junior college, only because we had a required PE class, and we measured our weight and body fat. It was then I realized weight wasn't everything. Body fat is what mattered, and I was a respectable 19%.

Fast forward to mid-20's, pre-pregnancies.  I was eating low fat and exercising at the gym at the apartment complex I managed. Although I weighed in at 134, I wore a size 4, having giving up on junior cut clothes and graduating to misses. I was an adult, after all. I felt great at that weight, a whole 14 lbs. more than my "never" weight. I was toned and finally had a bra size that didn't require a specialty shop or special order. At a 34A, I was way closer to the 36 inches my hips now measured. I was almost a brick house at 34-24-36, but not quite.

Then, came babies. Weight gain. Weight loss. More weight gain. And, every time I lost, I gained it back, plus some. I always let myself down on this front, even when I swear I'll never let the weight come back on. It just comes back on so easily when I fall back into old comfortable bad habits.

I am now on a quest to find that happy medium--literally. I'd love to lose enough weight to be a medium again--or at least a looser large. And, from all the failed diets and rebound weight gain, I know drastic thinking and programs aren't the way to go. I need to find a new way to "be," a way that's all my own, not dictated by diet books.

God only knows what my measurements (and body fat) are now. I'm not about to whip out that red tape or a caliper to find out. I can't do that to myself right now.

I'm going with weight, the way my clothes fit, and my overall feelings, realizing that sometimes emotions cloud my vision and eat away at my confidence, but that I always have control over how I talk to myself. And, it's high time I stop that all or nothing thinking.

At least I've never owned a mini van.

Prompt #40: Always, Sometimes, Never

Warm-up Exercise:

Always
Write the first sentence that comes to your mind, using the word always.
ex. I always tie my hair up in a bun before I go to sleep.

Now write another one with a different subject.
ex. No matter what's going on in the world, each morning the sun always rises.

Try one more. Maybe ask a question if you want.
ex. Why does vacation time always seem to pass more quickly than everyday time?

Sometimes
Write the first sentence that comes to your mind, using the word sometimes.
ex. Sometimes I wonder if my son could possibly understand how much I love him.

Now write another one with a different subject.
ex. Sometimes girl dogs lift their legs to pee just like boy dogs.

Try one more. Maybe make a wish or an I wonder... statement.
ex. Sometimes I look up at a soaring bird and wish I could fly.

Never
Write the first sentence that comes to your mind, using the word never.
ex. I have never been to Europe.

Now write another one with a different subject.
ex. Never, ever, would I have voted for 45.

Try one more. Maybe use a cliche.
ex. It's never too late to learn.


Writing Prompt:

Try a few more always, sometimes, never statements if you wish. Then use your sentences for inspiration. Write an Always, Sometimes, Never poem. Write a micro memoir with one of your sentences. Use one of the sentences as the opening line of a piece of flash fiction. Be creative and write whatever you feel like writing. Can't wait to see what everyone comes up with!

A Better Life

Response to prompt #39: 14 Years Young

The Billboard Top 100 from 1987 has been up in an open tab on my computer for days. There are so many memories in this list and I could have written about so many things, but here’s what I decided on...

Fourteen was complex. The height of puberty- high school upon me. In addition to those typical early teen rights of passage, my parents had finally decided to call it quits after a yo-yo two years of separation and reunion. As a result, my mom decided to relocate with my sister and me to Florida, where much of her family resided. My emotions were even more all over the place than a typical teen. I couldn’t wait for my new adventure in Florida! The beach, the pool, the perpetual tan (silly naive girl). But I was also nervous. Would I make new friends? Would I fit in as a transport right at the start of high school? I had spent my life to that point in one town; many of my friends had been friends since pre-school. It was exciting and scary all at once. And my dad... he would be so far away. 1987 was a tumultuous year indeed.

When I look at the Billboard 100 from my 14th year, it brings back lots of happy memories. It’s a reminder that 1987 was the beginning of the rest of my life. So many iconic artists, some who sadly are no longer with us. Whitney Houston, George Michael, Michael Jackson, and Prince all had hit songs that year, which ones isn’t important. They were all pop icons of my childhood, along with others who are still with us, like Janet Jackson, Madonna, and Bono and the boys from U2. There were some really popular one hit wonders too, and an artist who largely flew under the radar with mild popularity. Steve Winwood, who I believe to be incredibly under appreciated, possibly because of the success of his former Traffic bandmate, Eric Clapton.

In 1987, Winwood’s biggest hit on the chart was “The Finer Things.” However, my memory is of a holdover hit from 1986 that still got lots of radio play in ‘87. An important song for my sister and me and our now unexpectedly single mom, was Winwood’s mellow and understated song of positivity, “Back in the High Life.” It became our anthem. The three of us, all of our furniture and possessions in a Mayflower truck headed south, and a suitcase, our favorite CDs and some snacks packed into my mom’s Nissan Sentra, drove to our new state of residence.

My mom carefully planned the 24-hour drive, splitting it into 3 days with 2 cheap hotel overnights and 3 eight-hour days of driving. Together, we traveled from Long Island, New York to South Florida. It was an incredible 24/7 bonding experience for my mom, my sister, and me. We ate junk food, sang at the top of our lungs to all our favorite songs on the radio, and laughed until we cried. And when Steve Winwood’s “Back in the High Life” came on, my mom turned up the volume and said, “This is for us girls. Nothing but good from here on.” And with James Taylor joining us for back up vocals, we sang and sang, belting out the words;

We’ll be back in the high life again.
All the doors that closed one time will open up again.
We’ll be back in the high life again.
All the odds that punched us once, will smile and take us in.

And we’ll drink and dance with one hand free.
And have the world so easily.
You know we’ll be a sight to see,
Back in the high life again.

And we drive on down toward Florida looking forward to what truly turned out to be a better life than the one we left behind.

What a Feeling!

I wasn't quite sure what my approach to prompt #39, Fourteen Years Young was going to be. After all, 1983 was not my best year. The thought of beginning high school as a dorky-Kmart-clothes-wearing 14-year-old with a fullet (female version of a mullet) who wasn't allowed to wear any make-up besides lip gloss and a little blush (only sluts wear eyeliner and mascara) was terrifying. Plus, I'd never had a boyfriend or been kissed. The horror.

But, as I walked back to my claustrophobic cubicle yesterday from a brief power walk to the bathroom, the song snaked through the hallway speakers. And, an idea was born.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The number one song on the Billboard charts on my 14th birthday (June 14, 1983) was Irene Cara's "What a Feeling" from Flashdance. In fact, that song spent 6 weeks on the charts. Mind you, I wasn't allowed to see that movie--or many other movies for that matter--because of it's indelicate subject. In retrospect, it was probably a good call on my parents' part not letting an impressionable 14-year-old girl see a movie about a welder-turned-exotic dancer-in-the-hopes-of-catching-her-big-break, but the only feelings I remember having were irritation and embarrassment when all my friends were raving about the flick, and I had nothing to add.

Thanks to MTV, however, I wasn't living in a cave. The music video for "Maniac" was one of my favorites. I used to frantically run in place trying to keep pace with Jennifer Beals' quick moves, but my feet didn't move as fast. Maybe it's because I didn't have leg warmers, taped up toes, and a unitard. Or, it could be that I was (am) the quintessential klutz. So, I sat in awe of her grace and beauty, dreaming of being in her place. I wanted to be a maniac, but Nerdsville was home.

"What a Feeling" was more my speed. When I was alone, I sang along, off-tune, to that song. (I know this because I taped myself singing along to my favorite songs on the radio to see if I had what it took to be a singer. Nope. Scratch another dream off the list.)

I remember feeling inspired by that song. If a girl from a working-class family in Pittsburgh could have it all, perhaps I could too. Of course, I would have to dance through my life metaphorically, because it wasn't going to literally happen thanks to the aforementioned lack of coordination. I could do jumping jacks, but had to the do the double skip when jump roping, and splits were out of the question.

My parents did a great job bringing me back to reality. No grandiose dreams or plans were entertained in the Schulert household. Practicality and stoicism ruled. I really wasn't destined to be a supermodel (a super unrealistic dream for a non-photogenic girl whose only shared traits with Brooke Shields or Cindy Crawford were bushy eyebrows). But, working at a clothes store and becoming a manager by age 18, that was doable.

Fast forward to Thursday in the hallway of the district office. I needed to hear that song at that moment. After a long week of sitting in stiff chairs during meetings and being bent over a computer, frantically trying to plan trainings and write meaningful, explicit, and focused instructional guides and curriculum maps, I was not feeling especially inspired.  I trudged back to my workspace. I was tired. My eyeballs hurt. My back hurt. My brain hurt. But, in spite of all that, I had an epiphany: I really do feel lucky. I may not have it "all," but I have all I need and lots of what I want. 14-year-old Annmarie couldn't possibly imagine what a blessed life she would be leading. That song put some things in perspective, put a little pep in my step. I may have even done a little shimmy as I made my way back.

Add captihttps://gifquotes.com/q/57d66dfcfd94013766b4c295on

I have taken my passions--helping people,  writing, reading, teaching, coaching--and made a career out of them. It may not be as flashy or glamorous as some of the career ideas I had in my head at fourteen, but it is a position that fulfills me, even when it exhausts me.

I really am dancing through my life. Sometimes, gracefully; other times, not so much. But, I do have the satisfaction of hard work paying off. And that, my friends, is a great feeling.

In the Spirit

Response to Prompt #39

In the Spirit

When Natalie introduced this prompt, she referred to a female empowerment song that she saw had relevance in her life. Boy, this sure wasn’t the case in the year I turned fourteen. The main songs that had female singers were part of an ensemble that included men. For example, the big hit (which I loved) was “Wedding Bell Blues” by the Fifth Dimension. Yes, it featured a female singer, but she was begging one of the other singers to propose. Another case in point: Peter, Paul, and Mary. Mary took the lead on “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” the song that introduced John Denver’s songwriting skills to the world. She sang, When I come back, I’ll wear your wedding ring, which was a change from the original When I come back, I’ll bring your wedding ring. Either way, it ended up being about marriage. In fact, the statement Mary sang sounded odd – like a promise made for a little bit of freedom. Female empowerment was not on the radar, even with the women’s movement getting into full swing. Diana Ross was leaving The Supremes do go solo, but even that was backed by the big man of Motown, Berry Gordy, who also saw to crediting her with discovering the Jackson Five, even though she had nothing to do with it. Anything to boost her in the eyes of world. Women just weren’t making it on their own in any way, shape, or form in the music world.

I knew that “In the Year 2525” was the number one song when I had my fourteenth birthday in August 1969 because I was an absolute music freak. I followed the top songs religiously, and have very specific memories related to songs and their place in my life. As we went into the fall and winter months, there were a lot of songs I loved: “I Can’t Get Next to You” by the Temptations, “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye” by Steam, and “Something” by the Beatles, just to name a few. The linchpin here is that although I loved so many songs, I was not relating personally to them. They were just songs I either liked or I didn’t. I purchased them if I loved them, and I ignored the rest.

This led me into early 1970 to see what I could find that might work for this prompt. What I saw was a changing culture and contrasts in what was coming at us artistically. I was reminded about the breakthrough of the Jackson Five, the demise of the Beatles, and the release of the all time classic “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” I remembered there was rise in songs that had some kind of spiritual component: John Lennon’s “Instant Karma,” (not that I had any idea what karma was – I just liked the We all shine on chorus),  “Let it Be,” and the release of the cast album Jesus Christ Superstar ahead of the Broadway opening. Anyone who knows me knows that this stuff would speak to me, even at my tender age of 14.

As I thought about these songs, and thought about their contexts, I realized that they don’t have a strong place in my personal narrative. However, I did find a song that I was surprised to realize did have relevance.

Side note: I laugh at the title of the B side. Becky and I made up a dance called Milk Cow.

Although this song was not number one on the Billboard chart nationwide, it was a number one song in Cleveland (the charts I followed.)  It did come in number 22 for the year on the Billboard Hot 100 for the year.

First, let me mention here that I actually don’t know how much I like this song, so I was pretty surprised that it probably had an influence in me. I mean, in all these years have I ever mentioned it? No. Not a song I think about or talk about.

What probably made “Spirit of the Sky” the song of choice was the bluntness.  How many hit songs begin with talking about dying and being buried?

When I die and they lay me to rest

Going to go to the place that’s the best

When I lay me down to die

Going up to the spirit in the sky.

I’m sure this caught the imagination of my young self. After all, it is said we are closer to death in our teen years than any other time. I was drawn in by the directness of the lyric. I’m going to die. This is where I’m going. This is why. No lovey-dovey stuff, or people talking to us from the other side or mentions of karma. No bouncy “ABC” or raindrops falling on heads or everyone is beautiful in their own way. And should we talk about the fact that this is a CLAP ALONG song?  I mean – seriously.  When I die…clap clap. It’s insane.

Yet… it has survived. It really has. Somehow it has survived within me, although in all these years I never noticed it residing inside.

So, let’s talk context. I looked up background information on the song, since I didn’t know a thing about where it came from. Norman Greenbaum was into southern blues and gospel and wanted to create a song that had that sound. It was engineered for our weak car sound systems which made it stand out when it came on the radio, and he added Jesus to the song to make it more commercially acceptable, even though he was Jewish. 

Upon reflection on the lyrics of this song, I can see how the pieces fit for me as time went on.  First, although I never think I have “a friend in Jesus,” through my studies I’ve come to see Jesus as an older brother and guide. He was a rebel with a revolutionary message of love, which has been sadly skewered and destroyed in many ways. But I like to think I’m hanging on to my understanding of it as much as I can. In a friendly way, not that he is saving me somehow.

Another part of the song, I’ve never been a sinner, I’ve never sinned, was confusing to me as a young person, even as I myself secretly rejected the ideas of sin and hell.  I didn’t know why.  It would take studies with Unity, A Course in Miracles, and Buddhism – all spiritual paths that don’t have a concept of sin – to realize that those lines apply to me. I’ve made errors –sometimes really bad errors. Unskilled behavior at times for sure. But it does not make me a candidate for hell or some kind of bad person.  It makes me a person in need of the redemptive power of love and forgiveness.  But I’m not a sinner in the traditional sense. I haven’t “sinned.”

And speaking further on the Buddhist connection, and its main teaching on the nature of impermanence, as part of my practice every day I say the Five Remembrances, one of which is:

I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.

So, kind of reluctantly, but less so as I’ve thought this through, I accept “Spirit in the Sky” as a song with strong personal meaning to me for the last 48 years.  And heck --to state the obvious -- you all know how much I love the sky!!!  I suppose it should have been obvious all along.

The changing culture and musical contrasts would continue into the summer of 1970, when we would have the beginnings of soft rock with the Carpenter’s “(They Long to Be) Close to You” and Bread’s “Make it With You,” played against darker themes like “War” by Edwin Starr, “Ball of Confusion” by the Temptations, and “Mama Told Me Not To Come” by Three Dog Night.  Late that summer James Taylor would arrive, capturing my heart and soul. But it would be another year before the airwaves were filled with songs that were about leaving husbands or taking multiple lovers or even questioning the whole idea of marriage. The likes of Carole King, Carly Simon, and Joni Mitchell would give a voice to women, literally for the first time, and those voices would carry me gently through the darker days of adolescence, and into the ever-changing female terrain.  

Blowing out the candles on my 14th birthday

Lots of beautiful sky pics on this video!