Three

Response to #59: Memory is Tricky

Wow, this prompt was posted (by me) two months ago. In some ways it seems time has stood still and in others it seems like we've lived lifetimes. I've been involved in some other writing projects of late- lots of professional writing of documents and procedures and protocols, and a side virtual writing group, an effort to bring people together during social distancing. It has really helped me to help other people process and heal through writing, but my own writing has been minimal.

The last two weeks, I seem to be unblocking. I'm trying to dissolve the crusty build up and increase the creative flow. This morning after playing around with a couple of simple poem forms, I realized I never wrote to this prompt. And there you have it, time and circumstances.

As someone who tends to fixate on details, and often overexplains, I was struck by the form Helen introduced me to this week, the Pi-Ku (a 3.14 Haiku), and I just started some word play. With this prompt in the back of my mind, I ended up with this set of Pi-Ku or an extended Pi-Ku, however you want to look at it. The result is painful, albeit honest.

Three

Family of four
no
wasn't meant to be


We wanted children
child
one would be enough


He wanted siblings
one
of course a brother


It's alright now
loss
what we never had

Tight knit family
three
we learned is enough

Fatal Failure

I instantly knew what I was going to write about in response to prompt #59, Memory is tricky. Then I didn't.  Then I did. I've ridden this emotional roller coaster long enough. This is one thing in my life I wish I could go back and fix, so as heavy as it is, I am going to write about it.

Everyday, he came and sat in the back of Spanish.

8th grade, band director's son. Step father the band director of the high school.
Fiery red hair.
Freckles.
Chunky.
Plaid shirts his personal uniform.

Sadly, I don't even remember his name.Someone thought calling him Howdie Doody was funny.
I laughed every time they did, knowing in my heart I should have stood up for him,
went to sit with him when he hung his head, deflated by the daily teasing.

But instead I laughed.

One day, he didn't walk in.

And a counselor came in to deliver the news.
He had walked into his mother and stepfather's closet the evening before.
Found the loaded gun.
Put it to his temple.
Pulled the trigger.

He was gone. Dead.

I sat, numb. That is until the guilt took its grip.
I should have stood up for him,
went to sit with him when he hung his head, deflated by the daily teasing.

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

He walked in to Spanish every day.

Fiery red hair. 

Freckles.
Chunky.
Plaid shirts his personal uniform.

Someone yelled out, "Hey, Howdy Doody!"
Other kids chuckled.
He hung his head low, dejected, and took his seat in the back of the room.
I gathered my books and notebooks and took the empty seat next to him.
"Don't let them bother you," I said.
"They call me names too."
"One day we won't even care about all this--none of these kids or what they think will matter."
He cracked a little smile.
"Awww...look at the two nerds in the back," taunted the class asshole, making smooching noises with exaggerated pursed lips.
"None of these kids or what they think will matter," I mutter, just loud enough for the two of us to hear.
And he came to class the next day.

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

Fast forward to high school. 

A girl with what seemed to be a wig a 70-year-old woman would wear, but it was her real hair.

Always first in line for lunch.

Ate in a hurry.

She rushed into the bathroom next to the cafeteria every day.

She scrubbed her face clean of the thick make-up with acne wash.

It took over her whole face.

She methodically and expertly reapplied the layers, trying to hide her shame.

As she sat alone, gobbling her food, the football players honed in on her. 

Eric Jenkins, a huge lineman, began taunting her. 

I pushed my way past the team, cut the line.

Told them to "fuck off" when they protested.

Grabbed my lunch.

Sat with her. 

She barely looked up, 

but I caught the sideward glance, the slight smile.

They all stood, slack-jawed, even my friends. 

I had worked so hard to finally find a place in society by junior year. 

And now, I was risking it.

I didn't care.

It shut them up, and everyone left her alone from then on.

Still she sat lonely each day, but the teasing had stopped.

And she walked the stage with us the next year.