Niki is a native of Syracuse, NY. She has had many professional careers: Zookeeper, Magician's Assistant, Organic Chemist, Fairy Godmother in Training, Aerialist. She loves to create and share the stories that demand to be written down.
Because He Claims Not To Know Why
The part of the story that I don’t tell is how I laid on my driveway long after sungazing until the stars showed themselves. I mention walking barefoot down to the mailbox and how it was completely on a whim, and I say the part about the brochure and the frog, then the cicada and the kids, but I keep that part for myself – laying on the ground, at home with the stars.
We were never introduced, never had to be. I was fourteen, she was my aunt’s age. We sat at the refreshment table of my great aunt’s funeral reception, plucking sliced black olives out of the salad. One by one I put them on my fingers like rings and showed her quietly. She smiled. She put one on my finger and asked in her sing-song way, “Marry me?” We giggled.
Fairy Godmother in Training
For seven months, I waited on a list for a job opening at the heart of the happiest place on Earth, inside Cinderella’s Castle at Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom. The Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique, where hundreds of young ladies and gentlemen come each day to be transformed into princesses and knights. The process requires costumed cast members in many supporting roles whose duty is one and the same – to create happiness.
Can I ask You a Question?
“What if it was a pear tree?” “What if what was a pear tree?” “The apple tree.” “Which one?” “In the garden with Eve. She’s always eating an apple.”
The kids and I walk to their school right in the community where we live in central Florida. Monday through Friday, we walk there, and we walk home after school. Or we ride bikes there. Or we roller skate there. Or my daughter drives her power wheels princess carriage there. Or my son rides his Captain America power wheels motorcycle with a sidecar and missile launcher. When it rains, we drive there.
A Tropical Brainstorm
The kids swiftly blew through the schoolyard gate to the safety of my sturdy legs and cried. “The hurricane is coming!” said my son.
Watching You through The Angels, You Used to Love to Dance. Ain't It Heavy? your Precious Pain? i see your Ruins, what you’ve been made to Resist,
Dozens of dirty feet danced in an endless circle praying the rain would continue. The neighborhood kids gathered in each other’s muddy yards and puddles when the Summer rains came. Wanting it to never end, they performed the ritual rain dance to sustain their desire. Jumping and stomping with bare feet, the strongest part of their young bodies, they crafted a soleful communion with the earth. No clean or dry spot remained. Mud up to their knees, caked onto their calves, days later mom’s and dad’s still found more.