Found my "Voice" as a college student of forty-seven. Once a memoir was written, fiction, poetry and non-fiction became my passions.
With Just A Touch
I have about an hour before they pull the switch on what was once a very ingenious and lucrative career. My name is Barnard Oliver, or Barn Owliver, a moniker courtesy of the town’s youth who would come to me for advice. They said I “had an answer for everything.” That I was as wise as an owl. A persona I encouraged, to abate my deep loneliness living with an enigma of a father.
Life As A Teacher
She had been gone six months, but I grieved as if she had left my life overnight. Mother’s reticence and insecurity made her an enigma to her daughter of almost fifty years. We rarely spoke. Her journey through pain, my struggles to survive, and our shared nightmare resonated as the echo of our existence together.
We Girls Have to Stick Together
I was sure I would recognize her when I saw her. Philip has a “type.” I already know her name is Bridget. She also described herself in great detail on the phone, which made me even more agitated than I was before we made our lunch date. We didn’t do the usual “you’ll know me by the white carnation” crap. She just said, “I’ll be the one who’s eight months pregnant.” That should be easy enough to spot. Especially in an out of the way truck stop diner. This greasy spoon would not have been my first choice for our meeting, but I couldn’t risk being spotted by anyone who knew my husband, or by my husband for that matter.
I Was A Fraud
I couldn’t believe she said that aloud! And to my face, no less. It was the wrong place, the wrong time, and said to the wrong young lady.
Return, My Dears
In nineteen-fifty A family was growing. Mother was pregnant Her beauty was glowing. A fairy tale life Was how it should be?
The Perfect Pear
It had to be done. It’s not as if he is the first boyfriend to “bite the dust.” But he was the best… How could he not understand? It’s college. I have been groomed for this moment, all my life. My parents have been packing the car for over an hour, and I have to be up North for orientation by this evening.
You Left A Hole
The hole remained the rest of the winter, regardless of the temperature. I would pick up my late husband Greg’s vintage binoculars and say good-bye every morning as I passed the window where they patiently waited for my tears to fog their lenses.
Margaret waited until the coast was clear and pressed her frail body against the cold brick wall. She hoped if she made herself small, moved quickly and quietly, she could get to the front door un-detected. The long hall’s overhead lights were turned off to “conserve energy.” Or so the residents were told, when they pleaded to not be left alone in complete darkness. She suspected the lights were kept off so the night crew could sleep through their shifts. The only illumination for her flight, was the rusty green exit sign hanging over the porthole to her freedom. Tonight, Margaret was grateful for the green tinted darkness, that barely lit her way to the door. While enveloped in tinged shadows, Margaret, or Maggie as her beloved husband Ted called her, stopped to listen to the familiar sounds of the lonely night, one last time…
The Matador's Humidor
His old arms ached more than usual. It was his last and final bullfight. The cheers of his adoring fans still roared in his ears as he slowly lowered his aging bruised body into a thread bare, blood red recliner.
A Mari Gold by Any Other Name...
I hate my name! God, I hate my name! What were my “flower child” hippie parents thinking? I get it. It was the Sixties. Lots of kids were blessed or cursed, with names best suited for nature. I even have a friend named Rainbow! But my name is more like a lame pun, than a traditional name. There was even un-bridled snickering when my name was sweetly whispered over a baptismal fountain in church during my Christening. Is nothing sacred?
Wrapped Tightly And Hidden
What were you thinking, Mom? You had to have thought I would have had access to your closet, and so much more. If you wanted to continue to keep that part of your life a secret, why didn’t you just tear up and dispose of the contents of the brown paper package. You even re-tied the string that had kept it all a mystery for these last two decades. You must have realized that at the end of your beautiful life, I would be the keeper of the things that represented your full and vibrant existence.
Rest In Piece
I wasn’t sure if he purposely bought me the chocolate cake, or if he just didn’t remember I was deathly allergic to chocolate? One possibility is diabolical, the other just a typical day for Jim.