The Trick Flame Starts To Burn

Rosalyn trotted down the stairs, admiring Nathan’s workmanship on the banister.  She heard him rustling in the kitchen.  She walked into a well lit, open kitchen with dark counters that jutted out around the perimeter of the room.  She perched herself on a pub chair she found nestled under the overlay of the counter.  Rosalyn placed her sunglasses down next to her and propped her head in her hands on the counter, watching Nathan.

“So, what would you like to eat?”  He finally asked
“I am not sure, what are you making for yourself?” She replied
“I was going to make myself a turkey, ham, and salami sandwich with lettuce, onion, tomato, mustard, and pickles.” He reported with a satisfied smile
“Whao” She chuckled, “I think I will just have an apple and peanut butter if you have it”
“What?”  Nathan smirked at her
“What?”
“Apples and peanut butter?!  That’s a kid snack.  You need to refuel so you can make it the rest of the day.  Let me make you a sandwich.” He started putting the bread on a plate
“Nate, I really don’t need a whole sandwich” She protested.  Her stomach growled a big growl and Nathan looked up at her with a turned eyebrow
“What’s the matter?  You are clearly hungry, have a sandwich with me” He said, pausing the preparations.
“I am hungry, but I am also on vacation.  I don’t want to fall into the trap of overeating just because I am not in my normal setting.  I want to be good.” She looked at him, “Can I please have two apples and peanut butter if you have them?”
Nathan nodded.
“Fair enough,” He said opening the fridge, “But you have seen my cooking and let me tell you, this apple business won’t last long.” He juggled two plump, red apples, walked over to the sink where he found a clean cutting board and cut slices with chef like precision.  Rosalyn grinned at him.
“Yes, I have seen your cooking, which is all the more reason to be good while I am here.  If I eat all the things you make, I will have to roll back home!” She laughed.
Nathan handed Rosalyn her plate but didn’t let go right away. She tugged on it giggling. She met his eyes and he simply grinned, “Oh there will be no ‘being good’ on this trip.” He let go of the plate, laughed, then started on his sandwich.  Rosalyn held the plate suspended in the air for a moment, blinking.  She decided to laugh off the comment with a “yea, right” and ate her food, but in her mind she was racing in circles.

What does THAT mean?
What does he think is happening on this trip?
What IS going to happen on this trip?
I don’t remember his eyes having so much green in them.
His arms are so big.
He must have been outside all morning but he doesn’t smell bad.
What am I going to do about Chaz? 
I need to text him back soon, but what do I tell him?
I need to text Joe too.  Sweet Joe.
I hope Joe is ok with the kids.
What did Nate mean by ‘no being good’?!

Nathan stared at her while she ate her snack.  She had her face turned downward and looked as if she was reading a book but nothing was in front of her.  So, he just sat and ate his sandwich in silence, studying her, waiting for her to finally look up at him.  He couldn’t help but smile.
“Enjoying your apples?” He asked
Rosalyn looked up quickly, embarrassed that she was caught in a daze.
“Yes, thanks.” She managed to say.
She took a breath to compose herself while Nathan wasn’t looking and readjusted her light grey cover up, recrossed her ankles and felt a little bit better.
“So, Nate.” She said, “What other home improvement projects have you done?”
“Well I do a little bit each season.  This spring I re mulched all the flower beds and threw down some new grass seed.  I am in the process of building a pond to hold gold fish for next spring” He answered as he cleaned his plate and rubbed his very full belly.
Rosalyn giggled at him.
“A pond? That’s cool! And you aren’t hiring someone to build it for you?” She asked handing him her plate and thanking him once more.
“Nope,” He answered, “It’s cheaper to do it myself.  I have to clean the stock tank in a few minuets so you can help me with that”
“Um, sure?” Rosalyn replied.

Nathan helped her off the pub chair and made his way out the door.  He called for Pickles and Rowdy who came running from somewhere beyond where Rosalyn could see.  She grabbed her sunglasses making her way out the door to find Nathan watering the dogs.  She smiled at the lapping and splashing sounds.

She also noticed the water sparkling off Nathan’s arms in the afternoon sun.
When the dogs felt hydrated enough, they turned their attention on Rosalyn.  They bounded toward her and she welcomed them with wincing open arms.  They licked her and circled around her frantically begging to be patted.  She obliged.  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Nathan stand up from the dog dishes and peel his soaked shirt off, tossing it on a utility shelf.  He lifted his cap, ran his hands through his dark brown hair before replacing it on his head.  Even in the shade, Rosalyn could see the water pearls on his torso.  She also noticed several tattoos.  Before she could ask Nathan about them, the dogs got the better of her and pushed her to the ground where they continued to playfully climb on her.
She let out a quick yelp and Nathan was immediately on top of the dogs, pulling them back by the collar and scolding them.
“Oh shit, Rose-are you OK?”  He asked concerned.
He pulled her to her feet with one swift tug.  He was much stronger than Rosalyn realized so she sprang up and even came up off the ground just a few inches.  Nathan caught her and she met his eyes.  He held her up for a moment, her hands settled on his chest just below his collar bone.

They studied each other.
“Are you hurt?” He asked softly, still holding her to him.
“No” she answered just as softly.  She wondered if he could feel her heart pounding through her chest.  Her knees shook under her, causing her to finally look away for a moment, feeling his breath on her neck.  She felt warm tingles race along her body.  Her mouth went dry.  She met his gaze again.
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?  Do you want me to look at anything?” He asked
“No, no. I am OK.  The dogs were just excited, they’re still pups and I am new person.  I just lost my balance.  Thanks for helping me up.” She said said trailing off slightly.  She felt him tighten his grip on her and she inhaled excitedly. Her cheeks grew hot with anticipation.
Nathan leaned in, examining her blond hair that caught every ounce of sunlight, and traced his gaze down her face to her lips.
With only a hint of hesitation, he pressed his lips against hers.
Rosalyn met him with the slightest bit of resistance, enough to claim that she did in fact resist, before melting into his kiss.  She wrapped one arm around his shoulder while the other hand reached around the back of his neck pulling him even more into the kiss.  They meshed each other’s lips around one another and let their tongues trace each other’s mouths.  Nathan ran an arm up to the middle of Rosalyn’s back while the other he ran in the opposite direction and pressed it firmly against him.
After several long moments, their passionate embrace faded and they regained their respective composure.

Nathan cleared his throat but it was Rosalyn that broke the silence, “Nate, do we need to talk about this?”
“No” He motioned to the back yard, “OK, time to tackle that stock tank!”

Without another word, he and the dogs made their way around the house to the backyard.  Rosalyn hung back trying to make sense of what just happened.

 

Trick Flame On An Old Candle: Part II

The summer sun beat down on Rosalyn’s black Toyota Camry as she drove.  Various fields of corn, soy beans, and other crops whizzed by her as she drove.  Off in the distance, every so often, she could spot the silhouette of a farmhouse nestled in the fields.  Rosalyn checked her GPS, Exit 24 in 5 miles.

What am I doing?  She asked herself.  It was was question that she had asked for the last 7 hours.

Vacation, she told herself.

Joe had encouraged her to take some time for herself to recharge her batteries after a long school year with the kids.  He took the week off from work to stay with Hunter and Lydia, they had lots planned including a water gun party and Movie Monday which meant their living room would transform into a blanket tent-slash-cave with stringed lights and pillow beds to watch all their favorite movies.
He is such a good man, Rosalyn smiled.  She continued to think of her husband playing with her kids as she found her exit. She navigated her way down the long Kentucky roads.  She passed through small towns that looked like they belonged on a post card, and several roadside bars promoting local bands.  She peered out of her over-sized sunglasses at the beautiful lakes and marshes that popped up here and there, signaling that she was approaching her destination.

She clicked her air conditioner to the next setting up as she turned down a long dirt road.  The dust kicked up everywhere, she had to slow down to see where she was going.  Her heart started to beat a little faster and her palms dampened.  Finally a small but solid looking house emerged from the dust.  Rosalyn pulled up next to a vintage looking green motor boat with the name “Boat” spray painted on the side.  She let the dust settle before turning the car off.

She took a long breath, What am I doing?

Rosalyn got out of the car just as two dogs raced up the side of the house, alerting the whole state that she had arrived.  She smiled and held out her hand to offer her introduction to them.
“Hi Pickles! Hi Rowdy! How are you guys?” She knelt down to the dogs who were now welcoming her with tail wags and doggy kisses.  She giggled while rubbing the coats of the dogs she had seen so many times through pictures, but never up close.  They were more excited than she was used to, but she played along for the sake of the animals getting comfortable with her.  Soon she heard a voice that made her stand straight up.

“PICKLES, ROWDY, DOWN!”
The figure of a man came around the tree line that surrounded some of the property.  The man was tall, and even from far away Rosalyn could see he had definition in his upper body.  He wore a dark grey tee shirt with a logo she didn’t recognize and a pair of jeans she imagined were designated as “work” jeans.  A camouflage cap with a heavy curve in the bill shielded the man’s face from the summer sun. His dark brown boots crunched the gravel beneath him.

Nathan, she whispered.

The dogs obeyed and ran to Nathan.  He tussled both their ears a bit and sent them on their way to the back yard.  He then turned and walked up to Rosalyn.  When he made it face to face to her, Rosalyn did not know if she should give him or not.

High five? she thought, No don’t be stupid Rose!

She settled for placing her hands on her hips in a satisfied manner.  She smiled when he was standing in front of her, he was much taller than she remembered and she couldn’t believe she had to look up at him.

“Glad to see you made it” Nathan said initiating a pat on the back to Rosalyn.  She blinked, trying to repress her anxiety.
“Thanks, the drive was nice.  Long but nice, beautiful views.”
“Yea, we are only about an hour or so away from Nashville if you get bored.”
“We will see.  I don’t mind the tranquility of the country.  You forget I grew up a country girl” Rosalyn said to him with a smirk.
Nathan laughed, “Ok, Country Girl.  In that case you can handle your own bags.”  He started to walk away.
Rosalyn was a little surprised.  She didn’t want to show her disappointment in his attitude, so she turned to fetch her bags when he stopped her.
“I was kidding, duh!  What kind of man do you think I am?  You drove all the way down here, the least I can do is grab your bags.” Nathan said with a smile.  Rosalyn was relieved.  She had severely hoped he would be more courteous than the joke suggested.

Nathan swung her duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed her suitcase.  Rosalyn closed the trunk and they made their way up the gravel to the house.
“I see you met Boat” Nathan said with a smile
“Yep, will we be taking her out on the open seas this week Captain?”  She teased
“Maybe, depends on how the week goes” He replied
“I really like your place” Rosalyn said as they made their way up the porch steps.  She entered through a screen door and felt the rush of air flow through her hair from the open windows on the other end of the house.  Natural light poured in from every window, and Rosalyn couldn’t help but think of weekends at her grandmother’s house baking bread.
“Your house is beautiful” She turned to Nathan after setting her handbag down.
“Thanks, it’s an ongoing project.  I like to tinker with it and fix things up. Here look at this” He said.  He showed her to a pantry door that he hand crafted out of wooden panels and black wrought iron.  He then brought her over the the stairway.
“I made the banister out of wood I found in the woods on the other side of the lake.  I stripped it all and cleaned it all up.”  Nathan reported to Rosalyn with pride
“I love it!” She exclaimed as she tested it out by scaling the stairs.  “I can’t believe you made this.  You are very talented”

The pair made their way up the stairs and Nathan showed Rosalyn to the room she would be staying in for the week.  It was a small but cozy looking room with all the essentials; bed with a light blue bedspread, a natural wood colored dresser with a huge mirror attached, a closet, bed stand with an old fashioned looking radio alarm clock and cream colored sheer curtains that blurred the view but invited the light.  Rosalyn could not stop staring at the simplicity and beauty of the house.  Nathan set her bags down on the bed.
“So, what do you want to do first?”  He asked her while she inspected the drawers and closet.
“Um, I am not sure.  I have never been to Kentucky before.  What should we do?”  She answered, looking for all the electrical outlets.
“Well it is afternoon, you must be hungry.  Let’s go down stairs, make something to eat and figure out what our next move is” He decided
“Sounds good” She said absent mindedly
She set her phone and charger on the bed next to her bags and started for the doorway, but Nathan stood in her way.  She looked up at him and laughed,
“I just can’t get over that I am the short one now”
He smirked as he continued to stand there, staring down at her.
She swallowed her excitement.
“I am really glad you came down to visit” He said finally,  “It has been too long”
“It has.” She agreed softly.  She tried to look anywhere but his piercing hazel eyes that seemed to blaze right down to her soul.  She took a shaky breath.
“Is this it?  Is this the moment?” she wondered. She felt hot prickling chills race up and down her body before settling below her waist.
Nathan reached for her and wrapped his arms around her waist.  She reached up to embrace him.  His muscles were firm as she squeezed his neck in her hug.  They both exhaled at the same time and laughed as the hug ended.  They didn’t meet each other’s eyes at first, Nathan scanned her hair and face while Rosalyn traced his shoulders and torso.  He broke the silence,
“I think that was the first hug we had in 15 years.”
Rosalyn winced, “Oh my God, we are so ancient!”
They laughed and as they made their way down to the kitchen, Rosalyn heard her phone buzz.  She quickly checked the message.

It was Chaz.

Rosalyn tossed the phone on the bed without even reading the message and let out a heavy sigh.

What the Hell am I doing? She muttered to herself before heading down the stairs to Nathan’s kitchen.

Trick Flame On An Old Candle

Rosalyn had been home from New York City for 2 weeks and life had settled back into it’s usual routine.  She woke before everyone else, started the coffee pot and inhaled deeply smelling the coffee beans always made her feel better.  She began cooking breakfast and before long she heard a familiar rustling across the house.  Rosalyn knew every movement of the rustling all too well.  She cracked a smile and got a plate ready.  Soon a 3 foot ball of wild hair came staggering around the corner into the kitchen.  A sage green blanket with bright yellow ducklings dragged on the floor.
“Morning, Hunter!”  Rosalyn said brightly and tussled the ball of wild hair.  The ball of hair was not amused.
“Momma” is all that muttered out.
She scooped up her son and gave him a big Eskimo kiss and a raspberry on the side of his cheek.  That resulted in the Hunter she knew and loved.  He wrapped his arms around her in a giant hug and repeated his morning greeting, this time with much more enthusiasm.
One by one the rest of the house emerged into the kitchen, grabbing their plate and greeting Rosalyn before settling into the dinning nook nestled in the corner surrounded by windows.  Rosalyn took her coffee and yogurt parfait to her family.  She kissed her husband on the forehead and sat down, content with herself and the morning.
After a few sips she asked, “Joe, do you have to go in early?”
Joe nodded which made Rosalyn frown, “Again?  Honey, that is every day this week.”
Joe sympathized with, “I know Rose, but you were gone to New York a little longer than we expected and the work piled up.  It won’t be like this all the time, we just need to catch up.”
Rosalyn gave him a sad look, “Ok.  I know I was gone a little longer, but the evidence that popped up to support my case was too important to not explore right on the spot.”
“I agree” Replied Joe, “But now we have to deal with the consequences of business trips.”  He put his dishes in the sink and kissed Hunter then their daughter Lydia, “I will be home as soon as I am able, but I don’t know when that will be. Love you guys!”  With a big air kiss to the whole room he trotted out the door.

Rosalyn continued to get the kids ready for the day.  The whole time she thought about Joe and New York.  She felt terrible she lied to Joe. Again.  He was a good man who provided for her and trusted her with his whole heart.  Here she was; the villain in the whole situation, and she knew it.  She wondered what her kids would think if they ever found out.  She had to ignore those thoughts, at least for a while, as she finished dressing Lydia and helped her gather her homework.
“Mom” She said.
“Yes, Honey?”
“I want to wear my Christmas dress to school today.  Yonni said we needed to be twins today and she is my best, number one friend in the whole world!  We HAVE to match today.”
Rosalyn chuckled, “Whoa, who is Yonni?”
Lydia rolled her eyes, “My bestest friend!  Didn’t you hear me?”
Rosalyn put up a gentle but assertive hand, “Hey, we don’t need to speak to each other like that.  I know you and Yonni are bestest friends, but I am not letting you wear your good Christmas dress to school.  First of all, it is May and school is almost over so it will be too warm outside for that dress.  Second of all,  it is a CHRISTMAS dress meant for special occasions.  I don’t care what Yonni said, you two can match a different way- NOT with your special clothes.”
Lydia protested with tears, but Rosalyn assured her that IF she insisted to match with Yonni, that she needed to get Yonni’s phone number and they could arrange something.  At 7yrs old, this did little to console Lydia but she went about her way with a new outfit just as Rosalyn said to.  Rosalyn sighed, Lydia was constantly challenging her.  Rosalyn often teased that Lydia would make an excellent lawyer because she loved to argue.  Lydia never found it funny and always proved Rosalyn’s point by contesting her mother.  Nevertheless, Rosalyn loved Lydia’s fiery personality.  She hoped it would take her daughter far in life, hoped it would help Lydia stand on her own rather than rely on anyone in life.
Soon it was time to wait for the bus.  With the screech of diesel brakes, the giant yellow bus stopped in front of their driveway.  Hunter clutched Rosalyn’s hand, jumped up and down, “Buth, Buth, Buth”.  Lydia giggled, hugged her brother and mom and hopped on the bus.  Rosalyn and Hunter watched the bus drive out of sight then made their way back to the house.  Rosalyn checked her black hills gold watch that she wore whenever she was missing her grandmother. 7:45am.  She had about 45 mins to get Hunter ready for the sitter and make her way to work.
The walk back to the house was enjoyable despite it’s short length.  The air was sweet with the promise of summer and the grass still wore drops of dew that sparkled in the morning light.
Rosalyn and Hunter had stopped to admire a random dandelion, when she heard her phone vibrate on the counter from the window to the kitchen.  She brought Hunter inside, sat him on the floor with some of his favorite toys and checked her phone.
She had a new friend request on her social media page.  She was intrigued, she didn’t remember meeting anyone new recently so she opened the message and chills raced down her body.
Her phone read, “You have a new message from Nathan Finnegan”
Rosalyn blinked, thinking she misread the text.  She hadn’t.  She muttered to herself, “Nathan Finnegan….it can’t be….He’s alive?”  The next blink took her back to his face.  He had startling green eyes that were small and intense.  He had a wide smile with cheeks that were always slightly pink as if he had been running.  Rosalyn remembered his skin was soft and his kisses were quick, as they would have been in middle school.  She also remembered the sadness she felt when he told her that he was joining the army and hoped to be deployed by the end of that summer.  They were Seniors in high school by that time and Rosalyn was begging him to stay so they could have a real relationship.  She drew in a breath as she remembered Nathan trying to convince her of his need for going to the front lines.  She simply couldn’t.  She felt betrayed.  She remembered the day she concluded that after years of no word from him that he must have been killed and how empty she felt.
Now, she felt shock and disblief.  She mourned Nathan, made peace with the idea that she would never see her childhood love again.  She had moved on, only to find him not dead and apparently seeking her out.
She opened the message to read, “Hey, is this Rosalyn Parker? From Carmine Elementary?”
She opened her text box.

The Second First Time

The time and place doesn’t matter, it just happens to be a room and it just happens to be at night.  What is crucial is that you are standing before me as if by magic.  The inky night conceals everything except the stars dancing in our eyes. I can sense your outline in my heightened excited fear.
We don’t say a word, for non are needed.
Your breath is slow and steady, and reminds me of the grandeur and confidence of a mighty river. You know I am stricken with temptation because you break our stares by placing a hand on my cheek.
I let out a breath of unexpected relief and dive into your hand.
You take a step back and begin to unbutton your shirt. The moon briefly comes out from hiding to sneak a peek as you reveal your long, towering shoulders.
I almost gasp.
I didn’t think I would ever get to see such sites again but here they are, here you are, in front of me and we are about to confess our last 10 years to each other.
Finally I am brave enough to place my hands timidly up under your torso and take in the form I knew so well.  I trace your chest and the curves of your collar bones with my fingers, remembering the journey as if it was just yesterday. I glance up to you and you have a half smile; I can’t tell what it means, but see no signs of hesitation.
I blink and wonder if I see love.
I wonder if I see amusement in our situation.
Do I see confidence in his power over me?
I decide that I see a cocktail of it all.
I decide to consider where we are in our lives and throw myself in the comfort of our history.  After all, history has a way of repeating itself.

You seem to be through of my angst-y stares and begin to tell me everything is alright, that we know each other better than anyone knows us.  I remind you that it was my idea and my initiation that led to us facing each other heading down a very personal memory lane.
Your smile widens and you lean in to run your lips along the length of my neck.  Your breath is hot and sends chills down my body.  I tilt my head and let my hair fall to the side and wrap my arms tightly around you.  I reciprocate the gesture by pouncing my lips along your body.  You breathing becomes passionate and quick.  You take my face in your hands and raise it to meet your eyes.  We press our lips together and I feel an explosion of desire and familiarity.  Our kiss is passionate and lengthy, remembering each others taste and tangling our hands in one another’s hair.
I can feel your yearning press against me and the slight dampness of excitement perspiring on both of us.  You finally begin to run your hands under my blouse.  I submit and lift my arms to reveal myself to you and the look on your face is tender, giving me the bravery to continue to reveal skin.
You take me in your arms-one mighty swoop and I am suddenly perched above you.  You bury yourself into my ample endowment and I let out a sigh of pleasure.  We manage to find the bed behind us and as you lower me you hold on to my knee, forcing it to raise against you.  I slowly push myself against the yearning that is clearly evident through what is left of your clothes. You stand at the edge of the bed staring at me for a moment before you approach me-kissing parts of me you haven’t seen in years.  Our lips meet once more and it’s just as passionate and exciting as before.  Our eyes meet and finally our silence is broken,

“I have missed you so much” You say to me.
“It’s been too long” I reply.
Another kiss.
“I thought about you every day, really.” You say.
“I have never stopped thinking of you either.”
You run your hands along my body, massaging and caressing.  I arch my back and trap you with my thighs.
“No one has even come close to you-” You start to say, but I stop you with a kiss
“Don’t, let’s just enjoy that we are here now.  There is only you and me in here.” I say.
You nod and before long I feel our intimate skin meet.  You look deeper into my eyes that I have ever known, “I have never loved anyone as much as I have loved you.  You are my everything and every breath I have ever taken was in hopes to have you in my life again.”
Before I could answer I felt us become one.  With an explosion of emotion, my body melted into a rhythm and we ravaged each other until our muscles ached.
I flip you over mid-rhythm and relieve you of all your labors.  I look down at you and control your hands, placing them on my hips glistening in the muted moonlight.  I create a new rhythm  that leaves you nearly breathless.
No need to rush as I remind you with every curve of my body what my love feels like.
Soon your fingers dig into my soft skin. A couple more breaths and you sit up, wrap your arms tightly around me and press yourself against me desperately.  We cry out together in union as ecstasy engulfs us, turning the room brilliant shades of blues purples and greens.
Trembling you look up at me.
We are still one and as the sweat rolls down your temple you beg, “Please don’t ever leave.”

 

Control Freaks

When I think about why we create monsters, I think about our insatiable need to have control in our lives.  Since the dawn of time, we have tried to conquer the world around us; from simple grain that later would become essential crops, to domesticating great beasts that would provide us nourishment.  Even geography has been no match for us as we bridge rivers and carve into mountains.  Controlling things is at the root of what makes us humans, and we have a deep, continuous need to manipulate our world for our own needs.  I look at the monsters discussed in Chapter One; Frankenstein’s monster, Godzilla, zombies, and vampires they are all metaphors for deeper issues, yes, but they all have one other thing in common-they are all wild.

The very first essay, Why We Crave Monsters by Stephen King, suggests that the monsters we create are embodiments of the thoughts, emotions, and fears that are not acceptable in civilized society.  He further suggests that our newly created monsters need to be cared for; to be allowed to “roll around in the grass”.  King, whether he realizes it or not, is suggesting that our monsters are uninhibited and it is our job as their creators to give them order. A job we as humans gleefully accept as controlling things is our specialty.

Consider Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley’s story of Frankenstein’s monster.  The story itself is a prime example of how we humans like to pretend we are Gods rather than men and women.  In her tale, Dr. Frankenstein pieces together a so called man from the rotting flesh of the dead.  To the Dr., the idea of recreating life from death maintains it’s grandeur until the “man” finally rises and earns his title of Monster.  The Dr. not only tries to control life in the mere conception of reanimating dead flesh, but also in the scene in which the monster forces his way into Frankenstein’s room.  The Dr. is desperate to be in control.

Detaching ourselves from the story of Frankenstein’s monster, let us now examine the author herself.  Shelley created this monster out of her thirst to control what is uncontrollable.  An excerpt from Frankenstein: A Cultural History by Susan Tyler Hitchcock reveals some of the events that may have influenced Shelley into creating such a horrific and untamable thing.  Hitchcock reveals that Shelley was not only a mother to an infant during the story’s conception, but also dealing with grief of a previous lost child.  Additionally, factors such as the complex relationship she maintained with the father of her son, and erratic weather mused Shelley to create a vessel to house them all.  This vessel, Frankenstein’s monster, is Shelley’s attempt in controlling the world around us.

As Chapter One continues we see other examples of our created monsters being wild and unruly.  Zombies are mentioned as being slow and unintelligent; needing order and repetition to be properly subdued.  Even our beloved vampires are mentioned in this chapter as being feral in their search for blood and lust.  In the vampires’ case we create strict limits to control their behavior; only coming out at night, aversion to garlic and all things holy.  We create these monsters because the first essay, by King, in this chapter couldn’t be more right, in my opinion.  Monsters are created because we aren’t allowed to run around fulfilling the disturbing, rude, or lustful notions we inevitably have. We need to gather these notions up and control them so they may not destroy our lives.

What is interesting to me is that so far all the monsters mentioned in this chapter are of the fantastic kind.  That is to say that Shelley’s monster was exceptionally tall and hideous, and that vampires were strikingly attractive which empowered their seductiveness.  It is easy to detach ourselves from the monsters mentioned and reintegrate into contemporary life.  I am anxious to read about the monsters we create that are not as obvious in not belonging to our world.  How do we detach ourselves then?  If King’s essay is as spot on as I believe it to be, then the monsters whose gateways from their world to ours are a little thinner also need to be let out of their cages once in a while, for the necessary maintenance of “proper muscle tone”.  When that happens, what happens to our reality?  In the upcoming chapters, I hope to find out if my question has an answer and how it relates to my own monster creations in need of exercise.

 

Let’s Go Fly A Kite

My heart soars in the wind like a kite; it dances with the rhythm of the wind-almost wild-all the while tethered to a central point.

You are my central point.

Like the kite, I was made for flying high with the wind.  I open my self up to catch the familiar breeze of life and take off into the sky, looking down at you from my temporary home.  I pretend to soar across the land to another place and time, feeling the snap of reality when I remember I am but a kite tied to a string.

Marco……..Polo…….

I know you are not gone, but you are not here either.  I continuously sit at my computer, hoping you will come through my fingers and face me from the screen.  It’s like you have shrunk down to a tiny size and are now hiding in the fabrics of my mind-peeking around the corner the way a toddler does when they are up to no good.  I am worried because there are so many things that need to be shared-if you are gone too long I won’t be able to manage them all-not alone.
They will disappear.
I will forget.
You will forget.
You have already forgotten.
I should go on and focus on other things that need to be shared, with other people and other places….but I can’t.  They don’t seem as interesting or as fun as ours.  We have such a rich, influential story-it would be a shame not to cherish it….
But when is it cherishing and when is it fantasizing?
How do I keep my feet on the ground-living in the Now, if I keep reaching up to clouds that are drifting by above me traveling to the Great Beyond?
If I idolize our Past, how will I appreciate my Now?
Maybe you should stay hidden.
My heart fractures at the very thought, but you are more than a muse and all it takes isa mere ripple of your existence and you grow to incredible proportions; great for my history-bad for my now.
So why haven’t I put out the fire that burns for you? 

When The Siren Sings

A small sail boat weaved from grocery coupons, and coloring book pages bobs up and down on the Sea of Motherhood,  and there I am sitting in the vessel-just waiting for water to seep in and consume me.
It’s a sad sight-a weathered sailor staring off into the horizon as her boat is tossed around carelessly.
I don’t look around me, I already know there is nothing but me and the sea.  I don’t even blink when Sadness’s clouds blanket the sea and cry on my shoulders.

I am headed to Independent Island-it’s where I live.  It is a lush island, with trees of Life sprawled throughout it’s interior; peppering the land with the cover of experience. I am the queen there.
When I am ashore, enforcing my rule, each day is mine and mine alone.  The sun shines every day-even when it rains-and the breeze from the beaches taste like Freedom.  I walk the entire island as I please.  I venture it’s twisting and turning paths through Friendship Forest, climbing various branches and reinforcing the bonds that have been there for ages.  I am not burdened by the responsibilities of maintaining the stability of Independence Island.  I love my title and my rule.
I am proud to say I have created the perfect balance of peace and adventure.

Now I just look at it from my tiny boat; it is but a small speck on the horizon.
So how did I get here?

 

When the shores of Independent Island were first flooded with the Sea of Motherhood, I couldn’t have been more happy.  It was the pinnacle of existence for my thriving island.  I thought since I had conquered the island, the sea would be no problem for a powerful queen like myself. Sometimes being queen of your own Independence Island can make you overly confident and under informed.
This was one of those times.
My shores foamed with promise as the sea waves pulsed upwards; splashing only what I wanted to see upon the sands.  Each wave brought new hope, new challenge, and I was steadily watching them roll in while packing for when the tide was high enough to carry me off on what was sure to be a conquest.

I was eagerly packing my inner belongings in a fabulous yacht-completely different from my current sailboat, which was now starting to show signs of water log.  My yacht was lavish and new, filled with things I was certain I needed for my epic voyage.  After anticipating and celebrating the approaching tide for months, it was finally time to shove off.  I, Independence Island’s Queen, took one last entitling look around the landscape before pushing my foot deep into the soul sands in order to heave myself into my new, flashy (and a tad expensive) yacht.
I never looked back after that.
I almost laughed at the idea of missing the island I governed.
The Sea of Motherhood had a current that grabbed hold of my opulent ship and whisked it far away from the island with great haste.  I brushed the sand off my feet, completely unaware, at how precious those bits really were to me.

At some point in my journey, my lavish yacht was capsized-surely by a Practicality Squall, which ravaged the Sea of Motherhood quite frequently. I managed to barely stay afloat in the difficult waters, find a sailboat drifting aimlessly, and climb aboard.  Without giving a second thought, I pulled on the main sheet to adjust the main sail.
That was the magic of the Sea of Motherhood; once I set sail, I realized I knew how to sail the whole time.
It came naturally to me.
Once my yacht had been swapped out for my current sail boat, I started achieving tasks I had only read about.  I was able to steer my sailboat using the winds of Intuition, I prevented further capsizing using various knots of Love to hold my sails tight.  At some point I even became a master at scrubbing the infamous Poop Deck.

During a dead run, I sliced through the sea with ferocious pride.  I perched myself to the right of the Nurturing main sail, with a steady hand on the tiller.  I could hear the faint sound of a ukulele strumming in the distance; the soft melody was the soundtrack of the Sea of Motherhood.  I poked my head over the side of the boat to see the famous Reflections of Love race past my vessel. The sea sprayed my face with memories and treasured moments-each drop sweeter than the last.  I soon learned that this was the allure I needed to stay on my boat; to keep sailing through the challenges and sacrifices needed to complete my voyage.  I became so engulfed in the adventure that I was oblivious that I was slowly losing all memory of Independence Island-and my rule over it.

Years went by before I realized I hadn’t been anywhere near Independence Island.  My epiphany was accompanied by the recognition of what I had become. I was bloated with Bitterness at the sea for taking me so far away from the island.  My hair felt long and stringy; a product of endless sea spray.  As the shroud of the sea is lifted from my eyes, I saw that not only had I not seen my island in years, but I was nowhere near it-I had sailed painfully off course.
I had somehow, somewhere, submitted myself completely to this adventure.
I had somehow, somewhere, focused my attention more on maintaining the integrity of my meager sailboat and it’s buoyancy than the well being of it’s own captain.
I had given up my queendom for life on the Sea of Motherhood.

It was time to open up the nurturing main sail and take back my throne.

 

Detox Just to Retox

Title credit goes to Fall Out Boy, “Disloyal Order of the Water Buffaloes”

 

Many of the details are still hazy, like trying to focus on an object underwater.

I woke up because it was hot.
Too hot.
And I couldn’t move.
I twisted and turned to try to figure out why before opening my eyes-I realized I was stuck.
Not stuck-tied.
I opened my eyes and saw the horror that was my situation.
I was suspended horizontally over a pit that generated intense heat, illuminating everything in a sharp orange color.  The fumes burned my eye and nostrils.  I panted frantically.  How did I get here?!  I wondered.  I looked around desperately, I saw no one-but heard rhythmic chanting all around me.
Sweat dripped down my nose and my hair blocked my view.
I started to call out-I didn’t know to who since I couldn’t see anyone standing anywhere.  My calls turned to screams as I became increasingly terrified.  My skin was a bright shade of pink from the heat of the pit below me.  The mysterious chanting increased and I looked around-My eye caught a twinkle in the torch lights that surrounded pit.  I let out a scream from deep down in my belly.

From off in the distance a giant pair of sharp-pointed, silver scissors floated towards me. I couldn’t believe my eyes, How is this possible? I thought.  I could almost hear it’s warped hum as it sliced through the air; pointed straight for my middle.
The fear was crippling.
I jerked and pulled at my restraints as hard as I could with no resolve.  I forgot all about the molten pit beneath me, I was fixated on the new fear of being impaled.
Slowly, ominously, the scissors began to open.
I was screaming so hard that my stomach burned, my ears rang and my throat gargled with strain.
What the Hell is going on?!  This can’t be happening!!! Are my thoughts as the scissors reached my middle and before I could plead a prayer- they snapped shut.

I flinched my eyes shut-I expected blackness and emptiness, what I imagined sudden death was like before you were ushered to wherever you believed you ended up.  A moment passed and I realized I was NOT dead!  Confused, I flashed my eyes open to see my body in two pieces and something pouring out of me at a pace that reminded me of tears. I noticed the substance pouring from my two halves displayed images; familiar images-people I knew, places I had been, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that they were memories.  I was being robbed of my memories!
A moment later I realized they all had a familiar tone; they were of Him!!
I was being drained of all memory of Him.
“NO!” I cried out, “Not Him, please, someone help me!  I can’t forget him, I can’t lose him completely!!”
Of course my cries were futile.
I watched in agony as the last drop of memory rolled out from my soul.  It was of his face; long, triangular, with all the curves and surfaces I cherished, smiling and a twinkle in his rich, brown eyes.  I sobbed heavy heaves as it broke free from me and fell, almost peacefully, into the heat-it let out a hiss as my very last memory of him incinerated it in an instant.
It was done.
His memory was gone.
I had nothing left.
I was empty.

I felt my halves move together.  I hung my head, my hair covered my face almost completely but I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about anything anymore, nor did I feel anything anymore.
My halves began to fuse together and once I was whole again, was lifted from my bondage and set on the ledge of the pit.
I slumped to my knees.
Numb, I  stood up.  My chest pounded as I slowly walked to the ledge of the pit.  I looked down with solemn eyes, stretched my arms out and leaned forward; falling into the bubbling heat, chasing his memory.

Check This Out–>How Billy Joel Taught Me To Write — Discover

At Lit Hub, novelist Benjamin Wood explains how the Piano Man shaped him as a writer: “Any good sentence I’ve composed as a novelist (there must be one somewhere) has a lot to do with the unwitting tuition of Billy Joel.”

via How Billy Joel Taught Me To Write — Discover

This is a must read!  I listened to each song mentioned in the blog before I read Benjamin Wood’s elaborations and it was almost absurd how emotional and invested I had become.  I will be following Mr. Wood’s writing as well as evaluating my own personal appreciation for The Piano Man.

-LM