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KEPT IN THE DARK
by Melissa Bachara |
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On nights when the black sky gives way to rolling gray
thunderclouds, and the wind begins to send the leaves of
great trees across the back lawn like tumbleweeds, I am
reminded of my mother, and her fear of tornadoes.
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Growing up in the Midwest, it seems like every summer
brought us one of these dangerous storms and sent us to
the dark, gray basement with blankets, pillows and a
transistor radio. When the winds finally knocked out the
power, my mother would round us up, my three sisters
and me, and say, "Bring the flashlight and lets go down to
the cellar. There's a tornado coming."
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From down there you could barely hear the wind over the
scratchy voices of radio weathermen emitted from radio
we huddled around, trying to hear what was happening
outside. Finally, when an unknown voice said the danger
had passed, we'd fold up the blankets, turn off the radio
and emerge unscathed from our safe haven. My mother
would cross herself and life would return to normal.
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Some of my mother's fear was passed on to me along with
her eyes. When a storm kicks up in east Texas I turn on
the Weather Channel and get ready for the worst. One
summer night, when my son was 9 and my daughter 7,
the sky began to display signs of the kind of storm that
shakes even the bravest soul. Far-away lightning
illuminated the treetops and the rumblings began. As
often happens, the television went blank during one
window-rattling thunderclap.
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My family fast asleep, I searched in the dark for some
matches to light the candles on the coffee table, and dug
through the closet to find my old battery-powered
transistor radio. When I heard the news that funnel
clouds had been spotted not five miles away, I decided to
go into mother-mode. I tried to wake my husband, who
thought I was overreacting and refused to get out of bed. I
gave up and woke my children, with sleepy eyes they took
my hands and followed me down the stairs to the small
bathroom, the safest place in a house without a basement.
With blankets, pillows, and my radio, we sat huddled in
the dark.
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I tried to assure them the storm would soon pass and that
chances are, no tornado would find its way to us. For
them, it was like an adventure, sitting there enfolded by
the dark, listening to the strong wind whistling through
the house. I hadn't been able to find a flashlight, and
wished out loud that I could find one.
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My son Jonathan, always brave and fearless, said he had
one in his bedroom. He promised to be quick, as he knew
exactly where it was hiding. Standing in the darkness next
to the door, I waited nervously while he ran up to his
room to fetch the flashlight. He returned quickly, back to
the safety of our little "cellar" as promised.
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Time passed slowly and we talked about storms. I told
them I liked the rain and the way it refreshes the earth.
We talked about my mom and the way she always made
my sisters and I sit in the cellar. With their warm little
bodies lying against mine, we laughed and talked and
shared in the little adventure.
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When the crackling voice on the radio said the storm had
passed, I reassured the children, and told them I would
help them back to their rooms since the electricity wasn't
yet cooperating. With a huge smile and a little laugh,
Jonathan flipped on the light switch. My daughter and I
looked at each other, surprised.
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"The power has been on for a long time, Mom," he said.
"When I went to my room to get the flashlight, I had to
turn on the light to find it."
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"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked laughing.
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He started giggling in the way only children can giggle,
right from the center of themselves, until we were all
laughing so hard we could hardly breathe.
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"I don't know," he finally said, catching his breath. "I
never thought of it."
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Jonathan's grown up now, but he goes on comforting me
when the lightning fills the sky and the rain starts to fall.
As the wind blows, I quietly remember the tenderness of
that stormy night, when Jonathan kept us in the dark.
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Melissa Bachara
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Melissa Bachara lives in Kingwood, Texas, is married and
has two step-children. She says, "I've been working as a
freelance writer and creative consultant for two years. I
am currently working on a novel."
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MUFFIN
by Vance |
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Muffin, I always knew that someday I would write this
little piece about you, but I had always hoped that it would
never come.
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There is an empty place in our cellar. There was once a
simple cushion there, a simple water bowl and a food
bowl. Our cellar is dry, warm in the winter and cool in the
summer, and in direct line to stairs that lead to an outside
door. All in all, it is a cluttered but not bad place to be.
Muffin claimed it for her own. Her territory, while her
younger Westy rival dominated the upstairs.
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Muffin didn't care. She never really demanded much ‚
actually, I don't think that she expected anything at all. I
think that she, in canine manner, "hoped" for food and
water and time outside and whatever attention she
received. Her extreme joy at any attention was quite
evident. I would, in walking by her, often bend down for a
perfunctory pat on her head, maybe even a quick scratch,
and with the empty promise (to me?): "Muffin, sometime
we've got to spend some time together. Good dog!"
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"Good dog."
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Muffin, you see, was literally what we consider an
"underdog". As she had grown from a puppy, her lack of
early care in a pet store "puppy mill" showed. She had
papers stating that she was a wire-haired terrier, but she
was no star in the breed.
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We first met Muffin in a Pennsylvania pet store. She was
meant to replace a long-time canine friend of my mother-
in-law, who lived all alone. The clerk opened some cage,
and out bounded a terrier whose legs were too long for
her body. She had energy and spirit and seemed just like
her breed. She bounded with the unreserved spirit
possessed only by a puppy. Her long legs slipped on the pet
store floor, but she never slowed down.
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Muffin did at first possess some faults. We all do. She
thoroughly relished dining on man-made construction
materials: fiberglass insulation, drywall, molding strips,
and even floor tile. A nice piece of natural wood was a
real treat. Although she eventually settled for plain dog
food, she was too spirited for my mother-in-law, and so
we had two dogs. Some people have none or one, but we
had two. She filled some void that I never noticed had
existed.
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After several decades of living and reading and thinking, I
do believe that dogs have a spirit. Muffin had one that
was simple, undemanding, humble, if that can be said of a
dog. (A really good spirit.) When the stroke hit her, we all
went to see her at the vet's, and she knew us. We talked to
her and finally petted her as though she were a champion
show dog. My daughter went back the next day with my
wife, but only my wife was able to make herself stay with
Muffy. I had said goodbye.
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She was nothing special, but why do I cry so much as I
write this now? Why do you think?
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Because Muffy was special.
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"Good dog."
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At school the next day a caring teacher noticed that I was a
little down. I explained what had happened. I was
surprised to return to my desk to find a small handmade
greeting card. Someone had folded a piece of paper four
ways and written a note inside:
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"Please know that your family and Muffin are in my
thoughts. I hope that there's a heaven; if there is, I know
our dogs are going to be there. Sincerely, K. Clemons"
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She had drawn a little picture of a dog biscuit next to her
name.
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Her card is still on my office bulletin board.
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Vance Agee
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Vance had a post script on his story and it was a tribute to
a caring teacher for her goodness. In his words, "because
one kind, caring, sensitive teacher thought enough of her
assistant principal and his loss of a dog to take the time to
show him her creative way of caring, about me, my family
and Muffin! I marvel at her sensitivity and caring. I
marvel how great a simple card could be so heart-
warming Often, I believe, difficult or disappointing days
are set before us to allow someone special to have the
opportunity to do a special act of kindness. Hard times are
intended to give good people the opportunity to show
their goodness. Thank you, "K.C." Clemons!
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Vance Agee
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Mr. Agee is the Assistant Principal at Lewiston-Porter
High School, Youngstown, NY. He is also serving as a
part-time "adjunct" instructor in the Department of
Education at Niagara University. He is a summa cum
laude graduate of Houghton.
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IN MEMORY OF GIZZY, MY BEST FRIEND
by Alta |
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The day had come, with a beautiful clear, sunny and
warm sky. The day my husband and I had waited for. My
husband and I had decided to get a kitten for company,
especially for me, while he was working. Our neighbor's
cat just had kittens three days ago on April 27, and this
would be the first time we got to see them.
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There next to mama was the cutest little fur balls you
could ever imagine. No papers, no long names, no
reknowned parents, but just plain alley tabby kittens. They
were all so cute and the time had come to pick one.
Which one? They all looked alike, maybe lone or two less
stripes than the next one. It was almost like eeny, meeny,
meiny, mo. I liked eeny, he liked meeny, so we ended up
with both.
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When they were around eight weeks old, we brought
them home for the first time. One we named Tigger and
the other was Gizmo. Tigger was more round faced, happy
looking and more fluffy in fur, where Gizmo was more
short haired and with that wilder look, slanted eyes and
all.
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Mine was the one named Tigger, but, I guess it wasn't our
choice after all. Tigger was all my husband's cat and Gizzy
adopted me. Right from the start they were our babies.
They slept with us, ate with us, watched TV with us, just
about everything, except ride in the car.
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Going to the vet was a chore, they did not like riding in
the car. If it was warm and we had the windows open, you
could hear their harmonious howl in the back seat while
we would try to sing along with them.
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Years went by, and never better companions could be
found. Gizzy loved to play fetch with me. We bought a bag
of water yoyo balloons, which are very little, and he just
loved me to throw them for him and he would bring
them back for me to throw again.
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Tiggy was the one that loved to play with the rings on the
milk bottles. As time passed, they grew to be thirteen
pounds each and loved to run and chase each other. They
sounded like a herd going across the floor and every
morning after eating, came their wrestling match and
look out if you got in their way, they'd bowl you right
over.
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Then came the day no pet lover wants to ever think
about. It started on a Saturday. I noticed Gizzy was kind of
slouching around, didn't seem his old playful self. I even
pointed it out to my husband and he thought it might be
because of the weather change and said we'd keep an eye
on him.
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The next day was Sunday. We went to church and was late
getting home because they had a picnic, for all the
members, on the church grounds. When we did arrive
home, my husband went in first and I stopped to say Hello
to a neighbor. He came running out of the house and said
he thought we were losing a cat. We gathered Gizzy up, he
was so bloated, and took him to the emergency vet. It was
a blockage in his urinary track and his bladder was
overloaded. They put a catheter in him and said if his
kidneys hadn't already started to fail, he might make it.
We were to take him to our own vet the next day.
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Well, he never made it. They told me to keep him in the
cage and I put it in the bedroom. This way I could watch
him more carefully. He didn't move too much and
somewhere around nine pm, he made his last meow.
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I fell asleep near that time and when I awoke around one
am, I got up to check him and he was already gone. I had
lost my best friend ; one who never asks for much, but
had a lot of love to give. Never again would I have
someone to warm my feet when it was cold, give me love
nudges on my body when he thought I needed them or to
be there to meet me when I came in the door. I know I
will miss him dearly.
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The next morning we buried him in the back yard under
our arbor with the Clematis growing over it. We put a
pedestal on top of him with an angel on it to watch over
him. As I sat down to say a prayer for him, I remembered
that last meow he made last night. It was the last sound I
was ever to hear from him and I believe with that meow,
he said, "good-bye mama, I love you, I am just fine and
will be here waiting for you when we can both cross over
the Rainbow Bridge and be together again." And at that,
he gently floated up into GOD's arms.
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Alta
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CATCHEM AND KISSEM
by Dee Ann E. L. Horvath |
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After ten months or so of utter and complete turmoil
with the my Grandmother's passing and financial hard
times, her small inheritance provided us with a brand
new start back in Illinois. Many changes had been over
looked due to other priorities taking precedence. The
biggest one being me. I had begun my journey into
womanhood. I was no longer a strawberry blonde robust
tomboy but a budding young lady. Everything around me
seemed to be alive in the spring of 1966. There were so
many doors opening.
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I looked different which meant especially boys treated me
differently. I felt metamorphosed but didn't know exactly
why. I began to dress in a diverse way wanting to be
sixteen instead of the eleven-year-old I was. My interests
changed. The Barbie dolls I craved a year or so ago
gathered dust as I collected pictures from Tiger Beat
Magazine and plastered them all over my bedroom walls.
I listened to WLS and WCFL Am radio stations (the rock
stations of that era) and played 45 rpm records every
chance I got with their tales of love and life.
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Life was grand. We had a pool and I was meeting new
friends. One of the things I lacked coming from rural
Wisconsin was the teen lingo the kids were using in the
Chicago suburbs. Swear words and slang terms, left me
high and dry. I learned the hard way, by using them
without knowing what they all meant. Needless to say,
that got me into trouble a few times. All and all it was an
enchanting time that lasted years. At the time I thought it
seemed frightening but looking back now it was absolutely
magical. Discovering life was so exciting.
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All the games we played were preliminaries for what life
had in store for us. I didn't know it then but I do now.
Although we all would like to believe that people don't
play games when they grow up, we all do. It's just that
some people are better players than others are. The hunt,
the chase, and the hot pursuit are all a part of life and I
experienced it well the summer of 1966.
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My sister Lori and her sidekick Cindy were the
neighborhood stool pigeons. One afternoon they came
nosing around and found out I was in the "weeds". You
see one of the favorite games the kids in my
neighborhood liked to play was "Catchem & Kissem."
Around our subdivision there was a lot of undeveloped
land. Weeds grew over our heads with creeks, small
ponds, trees, and there was plenty of prairie land to run
off our pent up energy. I knew my mother would not
approve of the game however, there was one boy I
especially liked who was playing that warm summer
afternoon. Larry was older and seemed to like my
innocence when I first moved to Elmhurst. The girls who
took me under their wings, so to speak, showed me
around and I set my sights on him.
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All summer long I tried to impress Larry and now was my
chance, even if I had a bad feeling about it in the pit of my
stomach. When Lori threatened to tattle on me I
pretended to blow it off. I didn't want any of the gang
thinking I was a chicken. Being this was my first time
playing the game the six boys and two girls walked me
deep in the weeds. The rules were explained. The girls go
hide and the boys have to find them. It was kind of like
hide and seek but with a catch. When a boy finds a girl he
gets to kiss her and visa versa. No problem, they would
never catch me. I was a fast runner and bugs, snakes, and
spiders didn't bother me. Well, spiders did a little bit. As
far as catching I boy I would just be slower that's all.
Sounded innocent enough, right? Wrong!
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The first couple of times around I didn't get caught and I
didn't catch anyone either. It took me a while to get back
to the center meeting place for the next turn. Apparently a
conspiracy was formed and the next go around the girls
high tailed it out of the weeds all together. Leaving me to
be the prime target for all six boys. An instinct from deep
down in side of me kicked in and within seconds I knew I
was in deep trouble. My heart pounding in my throat I ran
as fast as I could but Frank, the biggest overtook me, who
was nearly fifteen. He tackled me to the ground and I
knew this was no longer a game. I screamed out the other
girl's names while clawing at Frank. Soon the other boys
showed up but not to help, to watch and cheer Frank on. I
remember pleading to Larry to help me but it was to no
avail. As Frank pulled up my blouse exposing my bra
something snapped in my brain and I realized no one was
going to come to my aid. Frank had to prove something to
his fellow buddies and I had to fight for my life. As I
ferociously tried to fight him by taking layers of his skin
off with my nails I heard my sister Lori yelling that my
Mother was on her way. Frank stopped for a split second
and looked up and I bit him hard on his stomach. Frank
screamed and the boys all ran off. I never was so happy to
hear my annoying little sister's voice as I was that day.
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Come to find out, Lori had seen the other two girls take
off and knew that something was in the wind. Cindy ran
off in fear of repercussions from the two older girls. My
sister, on the other hand, knew she didn't have much
time to help me so she used her singing canary reputation
and was hoping none of the boys would dispute it. I got
up, dusted myself off, and hugged my sister long and hard.
She never told on me that day. She knew I had learned
my lesson and that I was grateful to her. My growing up
had caused a distance between us during those last few
months nevertheless, the strong bond was still there
between us, as it has remained all through the years no
matter what our personal differences have been. Even
though at times I would fall into the lead of others
through those tender years growing up, the one thing that
stayed with me from "Catch and Kissem" was to listen
you my instincts and go with them. I may not always be
right but I will be whole lot better off.
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Dee Ann E. L. Horvath
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