Starting again soon...

I've been gone for a while.  Months, really.  Sorry, for anyone who reads this and wondered what was going on.  Summertime was beautiful.  My girls wanted to play outside so much, go figure.  Cool waters and warm sunshine, fun activities at the library, trips up to the mountains.  A fishing trip for my anniversary.  Big smiles for happy memories this summer.

Next thing I knew school started.  Yay for a new schedule!  Field trips and play dates with our homeschool friends.  Making new homeschool friends.  We are abundantly blessed.  We're in the "swing of things" but I'm sick now and can't talk, so reduced schoolwork today, and extra time for me to work more on this story!

The next section of this story has been giving me fits.  I've re-written it a few times and I'm still not satisfied.  Maybe I'll never be satisfied with it.  No matter how I write it, it's just not pretty.  It's not right.

That's not really what I mean.  It's not supposed to be pretty; it'll never be right.  It's ugly and wrong.  But still.  I'm working on it, working on conveying the ugly and wrong.  Is there a right way to convey wrong?

All this to say I've missed posting on my blog, and I hope to have this next section up soon.  Looking forward to posting more regularly again.

Foggy Memories #6

Ashlynne survived morning classes, trying to suppress her stomach’s grumblings.  Shouldn’t have skipped breakfast, taunted her annoying inner voice.  Should’ve at least grabbed one of those stupid Little Debbie snacks to tide you over.  Yeah, because the instant sugar high and resulting crash would have made her feel much better.  Morning announcements said rib-b-q sandwiches would be served in the cafeteria, which meant there was little chance of Ashlynne eating something decent during the lunch break.  At least the lunch ladies made homemade rolls as the sandwich bun.  A roll and milk might pacify Ashlynne’s stomach until she could make dinner.

A note fell at her feet when Ashlynne stopped at her locker to put her backpack away before heading to the cafeteria.  She picked it up and saw her name scrawled in a sloppy script across the front of the folded paper.  She tucked it in her back pocket and headed to the cafeteria.

None of Ashlynne’s friends ate school lunch, either.  At most they ate a granola bar during the break, and then hung out around the lockers until the next class started.  Sometimes Ashlynne sat by herself in the gym, munching on chips and watching kids play basketball.

Not today, though.  No chips because no money because Kaitlynn freaked out yesterday.  She’d said Ashlynne could try something different next week, though.  Just a few more school lunches to suffer through.  Then hopefully something better would come.

Ashlynne made her way through the lunch line, asked the lunch lady for just a roll, no meat.  She gave Ashlynne a questioning look, but put two rolls on her tray and told her to grab two milks.  The lunch lady and Kaitlynn knew each other from way back, though Ashlynne was too tired at the moment to recall her name.

At the end of the line Ashlynne was delighted to see that there was some chocolate milk on display; it was normally reserved for Fridays.  Cathy, another lunch lady whose kids were all in early elementary school, started to object when Ashlynne grabbed two cartons, but the other lady hollered out to Cathy, stopping her from saying anything else.  Cathy took Ashlynne’s lunch ticket and smiled.
Ashlynne found a table in a corner where she could sit by herself.  She opened a carton of chocolate milk and took a sip.  Icy cold, it tasted alright, but it was made with 1% milk, and therefore lacked the creaminess of whole milk.  Chocolate milk made from raw milk was even better.  Ashlynne’s family used to get it fresh from her grandparents, but they’d stopped milking as they’d advanced in years.
Ashlynne tore a small bite from one of the rolls.  They were delicious – soft, buttery, and still warm from the oven.

The noise of students racing out the door reminded Ashlynne of slamming lockers, and she recalled the note in her pocket.  She took it out and studied the handwriting.  It wasn’t from one of her friends – their penmanship was much better.  She thought briefly it might’ve been from Ethan, since she’d been asleep when he left the house that morning, but it wasn’t his creative script.  What really struck her was the spelling of her name.  It was correct.  Kaitlynn chose the less-conventional Ashlynn over Ashley and then added the extra e, to make Ashlynne feel more unique, she said.  Really it just left Ashlynne frustrated.  Only her parents, siblings, and close friends spelled it correctly.  Teachers more often called her Ashley – as did most of Ashlynne’s  extended family.  Some even just shortened her name to Ash to avoid misspeaking.  Ash.  Something burned up.  Discarded. Fits, snarked her inner voice.  Ashlynne tried to silence her with more chocolate milk.

Ashlynne opened the note and her eyes went immediately to the bottom of the page, looking for a signature, but it was unsigned.  Strange.  Whoever left it in her locker must’ve assumed she’d recognize his (it must’ve been a boy – far too messy to be a girl) writing.

You still haven’t told me what was wrong was all that was written.  She knew, then, immediately, who it was from.  Ashlynne was folding the note and chewing another small bite from her roll when a tray hit the table, a chair scraped against the floor, and Colt sat next to her.  “Got my note, huh?”  Ashlynne looked up at Colt’s crooked grin and glimmering emerald eyes.

“Yeah,” she said after swallowing the roll.  “How’d you know which locker was mine?”

“I’ve seen you between classes.  Switching out your books.”  Ashlynne nodded and took another bite.  Completely possible – theirs was a small school in a farming community.  Not like thousands of students swarmed the halls or anything.  Still, Ashlynne always thought she kept a low profile.  Didn’t think anyone paid much attention to her, let alone knew which locker was hers.  Other than her friends, anyway.

“I’m really sorry about this morning,” Colt went on.  “On the bus.  The cockroach thing.”  Ashlynne’s eyes went wide and watery and she finished her carton of chocolate milk.  Colt took a bite from his rib-b-q sandwich.  He had three on his plate.  Lunch ladies liked him, too, it seemed.

“It’s alright,” Ashlynne said, looking around to see if anyone could overhear their conversation.

Colt swallowed his bite and leaned toward her.  “We have them, too,” he said in a hushed voice.  “It’s really not a big deal,” he shrugged his shoulders.  “I was just giving you shit, trying to loosen you up after yesterday on the ride home.”  He stopped talking and took another bite of his sandwich.

“Oh, okay,” was all Ashlynne could say as she finished the rest of her first roll and reached for the empty chocolate milk again.  She forgot she’d finished it, and now fumbled to open the second carton.  Half the time those tiny things opened up just fine and the other half she thought she needed a magic word.

“Here,” Colt’s hand rested on hers and he took the carton.  As he pried it open, he glanced at Ashlynne’s tray.  “Is that all you’re eating?” he handed the opened milk back to her.

“Yeah,” she shrugged.  “I can’t stand the meat.  It’s all rubbery and the sauce is pasty.  I said I just wanted a roll, so they gave me two and told me to take an extra milk.”

“Aw, it’s not that bad.  I’ve had worse,” Colt said, shoving the last of his second sandwich in his mouth.  “You still haven’t told me what was up with you yesterday,” he continued, still chewing that sandwich.

Ashlynne took another bite of roll and just nodded a few times.  Tears threatened her eyes again.  It was nice that Colt was concerned, but how could she explain everything about her mom and lunches, plus the weird flashback in the shower and her paranoia that Hunter was back?  Or why she had reason to worry about Hunter coming back to begin with?  She’d have to explain everything – all that happened before Hunter had moved out.  Even if she could somehow find a way to explain all of that, Colt would look at her in a completely different way.  A cockroach may not disgust him, but surely this would.

She shifted in her seat to face Colt.  “Yeah, I don’t really want to get into all that.”  Colt finished his last sandwich and wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin.  “I really am sorry for screaming at you, though.  That was awful.”  Ashlynne reached for her chocolate milk, not really knowing what else to say, or what to do now.

“Yeah, it was,” Colt said, and he snatched the milk out of her hand, put it to his mouth, tipped his head back, and drank it all.  He glanced at her with a gleam in his eyes and put the empty carton on his tray.  “That was some crazy shit, man,” he chuckled and shifted in his seat, one forearm resting on the table, his other elbow on his knee, his torso tilted in toward Ashlynne.

“I really am sorry,” she said, reaching for a napkin to dab her eyes, which were dangerously close to overflowing now.  “I feel awful –”

“Forget it,” he cut her off.  “It was almost like having my sisters back home.  Crazy chick hormones,” he chuckled.

“Yeah,” Ashlynne forced a chuckle and scooted her chair away from the table.  Lunch break would be over soon and she needed to get ready for my next class.  Or maybe she just needed an excuse to be alone.

Colt put a hand on her leg, right above the knee and squeezed gently.  “Seriously.  You okay?”  Ashlynne met Colt’s gaze; his deep green eyes searched hers.  There was no humor in his voice now, no mocking tone condemning female emotions.  Genuine concern was written in kind eyes, and his thumb grazed her knee, back and forth, back and forth.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered.  Ashlynne stood up, letting Colt’s hand fall away from her leg, and emptied her tray in the trash.  Soon she was out the door and headed back to classes.

Outside the lunchroom, she tucked her hands into her pockets and studied the floor.  Colt seemed really worried.  More than just “she’s my friend’s sister” concerned.  It was kind of nice, but she also really wished he’d just leave it alone.  If he kept at her about this, she might actually have to deal with the past; she wouldn’t be able to just let it slip to the back of her memory again.  She’d never really tried to process everything that happened as a child and the thought of doing so was frightening.  Sometimes she wasn’t even sure if what she remembered actually had happened.

Mostly, though, Ashlynne thought it was sweet that Colt wanted to make sure she was okay.  When she walked into her next class, a small grin graced her face.

Foggy Memories #5

In her room, Ashlynne turned off the light and lowered the volume on her radio to a dull hum.  It had an alarm built into it, so she set it to the “sleep” function.  The radio would play for an hour, then switch to the alarm function – set for six in the morning – giving Ashlynne plenty of opportunity to hit “snooze” a few times before crawling out of bed.

She was asleep soon after her head hit the pillow, drifting away on country lyrics.

That night was full of the restless sleep that accompanies awful, vivid dreams.  Steamy bathrooms with Hunter asking Wannadomeafavor over and over until Ashlynne bolted awake, shaking and clammy.  One dream cast her naked in the locker-room, another in the shower at home.  Still another was set in an unfamiliar bathroom.  It was clean, with matching, embroidered towel sets and a bear-claw bathtub.  In the most vivid dream of the night, Ashlynne – no more than six years old – wanted to take a shower, but couldn’t reach high enough to adjust the dials on the wall and make the water warm instead of scalding.  Thick steam filled the small room.  Sweat ran down her tiny body, mixed with the scalding water.  Why didn’t she just step out?  A hand reached into the shower to adjust the temperature; a body stood outside the shower stall, watched as she cleaned herself, handed her a towel when she stepped onto the wet floor.  Hunter’s wavy hair – he’d let it grow almost shoulder length during his junior year.  His voice velvet smooth wanna do me a favor? His last word echoed favor, favor, fa-vor, fa-vor, fa-vor; a piercing cadence.

When Ashlynne bolted awake from this last dream, her alarm was blaring, flashing six forty-five.  She had fifteen minutes until it was time to catch the bus.

She shed her pjs and pulled on a fresh bra and panties from the pile at the end of her bed.  She had a shelf high on one wall in her room, made to store a few clothes, but she was terrified of disturbing a spider and being bitten.  She preferred to hang bras on a bedpost and keep pants and panties folded at the foot of the bed.  Shirts hung in the closet, wrinkle-free, like a normal teen with a normal house.  A normal life.

Ashlynne rushed into a clean pair of jeans and grabbed a T-shirt from the closet.  The one with a rose across the front, faded from repeated washes.  It was deliciously soft, delicate, and comfy.  She slipped into flip-flops, grabbed her towel and gym clothes from the dryer and shoved them in her backpack, then headed for the bathroom.  A glance at the clock showed she had seven minutes to be at the bottom of the lane.  So much for breakfast.

She scrubbed and dried her face, brushed her hair, and swabbed on deodorant.  Makeup could be applied on the bus.  A couple minutes to go, she opted for mint gum instead of brushing her teeth.  It would help placate her empty stomach, too.  She peeked in the kitchen and saw last night’s dishes still out.  Grabbed the key off the counter to return to its hiding spot on the porch, locked the door, and slammed it behind her.

She headed down the lane just as the school bus came to a stop.  Old brakes emitted a shrill squeak as the metal box came to a halt.

She jogged as well as possible in flip-flops – never liked anyone having to wait for her – to the bottom of the lane, then climbed the steps into the bus.  Smiled in response to the bus driver’s “good morning,” and sank into the first available seat toward the back.  I didn’t realize at the time that it happened to be the seat right in front of Colt.

Before long Ashlynne felt someone’s knees pushing against her through the back of her seat.  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Colt was telling Ashlynne good morning in his own slightly-annoying way.  Ashlynne felt terrible about her behavior yesterday, but wasn’t sure how to apologize without creating an awkward moment.  So she just smiled slightly and offered a quiet “good morning” before turning forward again, thinking she should do her makeup before she forgot.

Colt leaned over the back of Ashlynne’s seat and bumped her elbow as she applied foundation, so it smeared a little.  “Don’t girls normally spend a lot of time in the bathroom doing that kind of stuff?” he goaded.

Not turning around to face him, she concentrated her compact and replied, “Most girls, probably.  I woke up about fifteen minutes ago.  So I’m doing it now.”  Most of the time Ashlynne only wore foundation and mascara; occasionally blush and eye shadow or a little slick of lip gloss.

“I don’t know why you even bother with that stuff,” Colt muttered as he nudged Ashlynne’s elbow again when she reached for the mascara she’d stuck in her backpack.  At least Colt isn’t letting yesterday’s craziness make him feel uncomfortable giving you a hard time.  Ashlynne left the mascara where it was, replaced the foundation in the same pocket, deciding her eyes would be safer if she waited to accentuate her eyelashes until they reached the school.

“I may have over-slept today, but I still don’t wanna look like shit, that’s why.” Ashlynne leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.  She felt like she hadn’t slept more than two hours last night.

Colt chuckled and sat back.  Ashlynne thought she heard him say something about being lucky enough not to need makeup, and she chuckled.  Thinking about Colt wearing foundation and mascara almost made her giggle.

A few stops down the bus route Ashlynne felt something tickle her neck, right behind her ear.  “Cut it out,” she responded sleepily.  Despite Colt’s protests that he hadn’t done anything, Ashlynne figured he had a feather or something with him.  The tickles moved from behind her ear to lower on her neck.  She tried to ignore it, but exhaustion made it difficult.  “Really, please stop, Colt,” she tried again.  She twisted so her back was next to the window, pulling her knees to her stomach, hoping maybe he’d relent if she moved further away from him.  She kept her eyes closed and tried to rest.

Then something mortifying happened.  Ashlynne felt Colt lean over the seat again and heard him say, “Look!  She’s got a cockroach on her!”  She opened her eyes and saw him pointing at her.

“I do not!” came the automatic rebuttal, but she automatically swatted all over herself and wondered if the tickling she’d felt had been Colt teasing me, or if she really did have a nasty little critter crawling along her neck.  She sat up, moved away from the window, tried to flick it off, all the while hoping it wasn’t really there.

“Gross!  It just crawled out of her ear!” he continued.  The other kids on the bus snickered.  Pointed and outright laughed.  Crap.  Colt could, of course, been right.  Ashlynne hadn’t checked her bag before she moved it from the chair by the front door to her room last night.  There was every possibility that a roach had wandered its way into the bag and decided to crawl out when she ran to catch the bus.

Then she saw it.  Crawling on the seat beside her.  It wasn’t one of the largest ones she’d seen.  Not that there were giant hissing cockroaches in her house, by any means.  They ranged in size from pin-head to thumb-nail.  The one on the seat next to Ashlynne, crawling away, was about the size of her pinkie nail.  She brushed it quickly off the seat into the aisle, hoping no one saw it.

Of course, the other kids saw it.  As they stopped pointing at Ashlynne and started pointing at the aisle instead, their laughter was replaced with groaning and cries of “Gross!” and “Nasty!” Ashlynne looked at Colt.  Met his green eyes with her watery brown ones, tears about to overflow.  “You’re a jerk,” she whispered before getting up and moving a few seats closer to the front of the bus.  The exclamations of the other kids turned into whispers and Ashlynne felt their eyes on her back as she made her escape.

In her new seat, Ashlynne huddled close to the window, rested her cheek against the cold glass.  Watched the fields pass by like flip books – the water running down the corrugations in contrast to the dark brown earth where corn and wheat peeked out – and tried to slow the tears that trickled past her damming eyelids.  The cool window helped suck the heat from her face.  

Lost in the serenity of flip-book fields – thank God for farmers and country life; always good for a distraction or lighthearted entertainment on an uncomfortable drive – Ashlynne was startled when the seat next to her sank as someone sat down.  His voice was soft when he apologized.  The antagonizing banter was completely gone when Colt almost-whispered, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean anything.”

Ashlynne lifted her head from the window long enough to turn in his direction, her eyes still watery, but holding the tears back now.  Meeting his eyes, seeing true remorse there, knowing he meant what he said and wasn’t just apologizing in case she told Ethan about what happened – her dam threatened to break again.  She turned back to the window to wait for another flip-book field.  Unfortunately, the bus stopped to wait for an early elementary kid to run from his front door to the bus.  He had to go back after making it halfway; had to give his mama one last goodbye kiss.  Lucky little kid to have a mama at home to see him off to school Ashlynne thought.  She imagined his mom made pancakes for breakfast.  No Little Debbie snacks for that cute kid.

Colt’s hand was suddenly on Ashlynne’s leg, just above her knee.  He startled away the thoughts of how different she wished her life was, how she’d rather see her mom for more than just dinner and Primetime.  How different Ashlynne might be if Kaitlynn hadn’t had to leave her kids to their own hands – or someone else’s.

“I killed it,” Colt said.  “The roach,” like he could have been referring to anything else.  “In the aisle.  I stepped on it.  It’s dead,” he stammered.  Ashlynne looked at his hand on her leg.  He showed no intention of moving it.  He leaned a little closer and continued, “We have them, too.”  Ashlynne’s eyes widen when he shared this.  She’d never told anyone what her house was like.  She figured everyone knew from the outside appearance that it wasn’t anything real great on the inside, but she never felt the need to provide fodder for people’s imaginations.  Colt kept talking, and Ashlynne met his eyes.  “It’s okay.  It didn’t come out of your ear like I said.  I don’t know why I said that.  It was stupid.”

He moved his hand now, brushed Ashlynne’s long hair away from her eyes.  Her eyes darted around the bus.  Colt wasn’t acting like Ethan’s ornery friend anymore.  He was being decent.  Nice, even.  Despite how she treated him yesterday.  He put his hand back in his lap, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.  When Ashlynne looked away from him and out the window again, he blew out a deep breath and said, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”  Um, you could say ‘thanks,’ came that snarky voice in Ashlynne’s head, but she was afraid she’d cry if she tried to speak.  Ashlynne nodded her head slowly, hoping Colt would let that stand in place of a proper “thank you.”  Just a couple more stops until they reached the school.  Colt moved his hand to Ashlynne’s knee again, smoothed his thumb back and forth a couple times.  “You okay?” he asked.

Ashlynne turned and looked past his shoulder.  “I’ll be fine,” she said quietly.  Above-whisper but not loud enough anyone else could hear.  His thumb stopped moving and he squeezed her leg.  Just a little.  Ashlynne glanced at his hand above her knee again before looking at his face.  Tears threatened to spill when she saw the tender look lingering in his eyes.  His mouth opened to say something else, but she interrupted.  “Please leave me alone,” her voice choked on the last word.  The same request she’d made yesterday, only much more politely.  Ashlynne’s gaze shifted to his mouth – would he say anything now? – then back to his eyes.  They looked hurt.  He squeezed her leg slightly before he stood up and headed toward the back of the bus.  Ashlynne turned toward the window and the flip-book fields were all gone.  The school was right up ahead.

When the bus stopped in the parking lot, Ashlynne bolted off and slipped quickly into the school.  She dodged the other students, head down so they wouldn’t notice if her eyes were puffy or her cheeks were red.  She made it into the bathroom and thanked God that no one else was in there.  A few paper-towels soaked in icy cold water helped the puffiness in her face subside.

The bell rang, signaling five minutes till class started.  Ashlynne stared into the mirror for a few minutes, smoothing her hair and looking for signs of lingering tears before touching up her foundation and applying a quick coat of mascara.  When she thought most kids would be in their classes, she threw the wet paper towels away, left the bathroom, and headed to class.  Colt called her name as she opened the classroom door.  She saw him at the end of the hallway, bag slung over his shoulder, headed in her direction.  She slipped into class and hurried to an available desk.  As the door clicked closed, she told herself she’d ride at the front of the bus on the way home and hope that Colt wouldn’t be bold enough to bear the loud, bouncing elementary kids with her.

Foggy Memories #4

Ashlynne blinked a few times and looked again – there was no man in the bathroom.  Even if there had been a man in the room, it couldn’t have been Hunter.  He’d moved out of state a couple years ago, and wasn’t due back until graduation next year.  Fighting against the panic that held her frozen in the shower, she grabbed a towel from the shelf, wrapped up, and stepped over to the door.  “It wasn’t Hunter.  Wasn’t really anyone,” Ashlynne tried to convince herself.

Ashlynne toweled off, hastily dressed, and double-checked the front door.  Shit.  Forget to lock the door after you fed the cats, idiot?  Maybe you had a visitor, after all.  “That’s ridiculous.  I would have heard the door shut if someone had been here and then left,” Ashlynne responded out loud to the snarky voice in her head.  The house key lay on the kitchen counter.  Funny.  Ashlynne normally placed it in its hiding spot after unlocking the front door.  It was only a quarter ‘til five now; too early for her family to be home.  “Ethan?!” Ashlynne cried out.  Maybe he caught a ride home instead of waiting for their parents.  There was no answer.  Of course he wasn’t home.  After practice Ethan utilized the school’s weight room until their parents picked him up.  Even if he had been home, he wasn’t mean enough to pull this twisted of a prank.  Ashlynne locked the front door and returned to the bathroom to blow-dry her hair.  “I’ll just start dinner soon.  Forget what I saw.  What I think I saw.  God, I’m going a little crazy,” she muttered.  More than a little came the snarky reply.

Fully dressed and hair dried, Ashlynne put the blow-dryer away, started the water for the spaghetti, and threw her towel and gym clothes into the washer.  Then it was back to the kitchen, a skillet on the stove for the hamburger.  The water was boiling, so she grabbed spaghetti noodles and sauce from the pantry.  No evidence a mouse tried to nibble its way into the pasta, so she dumped the whole thing into the pot.  When the meat was almost cooked through Ashlynne added the spaghetti sauce to the skillet.  She looked at the kitchen table.  Why do you live like this? The table was covered with discarded jars and a container of margarine – half-rotted food all over the table with barely enough room for plates around the edges.  That’s how it had always been, though.  Little roaches crawled among the mess, dead ones floated in the uncovered pickle jars.  Ashlynne fought an urge to retch.

“I’m not eating like this tonight.”  She grabbed everything off the table and threw it in the trash.  Condiments, pickles, moldy bread, scraps of paper, too.  Threw everything away until the table was only covered in bugs and whatever stuck-on nastiness had accumulated.  The clink-clink-clink of jars hitting each other in the garbage can was almost musical.

Ashlynne soaked a wash cloth in hot water and squirted dish soap all over the table.  An faint acrid smell tainted the air – the spaghetti sauce was scorching.  She turned off that burner and checked the noodles – still not tender so she turned her attention back to the table, scrubbing and rinsing the wash cloth and scrubbing again until the bugs all crawled away and there was no evidence the table had been covered in jars of spoiled food moments ago.  She set plates and forks on the table, drained the spaghetti, and tossed it with the meat sauce, and left it on the stove, covered with a lid.  She’d just finished moving her laundry from the washer to the dryer when someone knocked on the door.  Ashlynne peeked through the curtain and there was Ethan’s sweating face, blue eyes, and blonde hair.  She opened the door and he grabbed her in a slick embrace before she could pull away.  “Hey, sister!” he crooned.  “Smells good in here.”

She muttered her thanks as she wiped her cheek with her shirt sleeve.  Ethan moved off to his room and Ashlynne moved to the kitchen, leaving the door open for her parents.  She placed the pot of spaghetti on a folded towel in the center of the table.  It was almost as good as dinner at her grandparents’ – their home was impeccably clean.  Never any mice scratching the walls at Grandma’s house.

“You’ve been busy,” Kaitlyn’s voice called.  She nodded at the table when Ashlynne looked up, Kaitlyn’s face expressionless.  Then she turned toward her room, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be out in a bit and then we can eat.”

Ashlynne’s dad, Randal, came in last, closed the door behind him, and headed to the bathroom, not saying anything.  Ashlynne sat on the couch and turned the TV to Jeopardy to start their nightly entertainment.  “You need to put your radio –” he called as he came out of the bathroom and headed to the kitchen.  Ashlynne turned in his direction when he started speaking, and saw his eyes land on the table when his sentence was cut off.  She stood up and headed toward the bathroom to collect her radio and return it to her room.  She tried to slip past him, but he pulled her into a hug, squeezed tightly, and softly said, “Thank you.”  Ashlynne squeezed back and took care of her radio.

The family ate dinner together, Kaitlyn guessing the Jeopardy questions, Randal and Ethan reaching for additional spaghetti until they emptied the pot.  Jeopardy passed and Kaitlyn moved from the table to the couch to enjoy her shows and work on her crafts.  She didn’t say anything about the lunchtime conversation.  Ashlynne grabbed her bag from its perch by the front door, took it to her room and worked on some homework, radio playing in the background.

Randal peeked his head in after a while and thanked Ashlynne again for cleaning the table that afternoon.  “Tomorrow, do you think you could work on the refrigerator or the cupboards?  If we get rid of all the nasty food around here, I might be able to get those roaches gone once and for all.  Who knows, maybe the mice will go, too.”

He smiled when Ashlynne nodded, then walked across the hallway to his room.  He looked back at her like he wanted to say something else, but closed his door without a word instead.

After Ashlynne finished her homework, she closed her door, changed into pajamas, and brushed her hair until it felt soft and smooth.  She worked through her nightly stretches, then layered lotion all over her skin and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.  Kaitlyn stopped her on her way back to bed.

“If you can make it through this week’s lunches, we can start doing something different next week.  Maybe you can start taking a lunch so you don’t have to eat in the cafeteria.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.  Good night.”  Kaitlyn walked toward her room.  Ashlynne started to follow her, but something caught her eye.  She glanced at the table and saw that she was the only one who had put her dishes in the sink after dinner.  Everyone else’s plates and the empty spaghetti pot were still sitting on the table.  A small mouse tried to jump out of the pot, disappointed there was no dinner left for him.  Ashlynne shook her head and went off to bed.

Foggy Memories #3

The bus drove away and Ashlynne watched Colt turn away from the window, unsure how she would face him in the morning.  She turned around and headed up her long lane.  It was lined with cottonwood trees on one side and fruit trees on the other – apples, pears, peaches, and cherries with their fragrant blossoms.  All made great ammunition while a bored Ashlynne and Ethan waited for the bus in the morning, or as they dallied on the walk to the house they never really wanted to reach.  Ethan used to be too quick for Ashlynne to hit, but she’d gained accuracy over the last year.  He was at track practice though; there would be no game of “dodge” today.

The wind picked up as Ashlynne ambled her way toward the house, blowing her hair in thick chunks around her shoulders and face.  She tried running her hands through it, but her fingers caught in the tangles – she didn’t have any shampoo or conditioner in her shower at the gym, and hadn’t attempted untangling the mess on the bus. The wind didn’t help, either.  She needed a proper shower.  “You look completely crazed.  No wonder Colt pestered you,” Ashlynne’s inner voice mocked her.

Ashlynne reached the crest of her lane and turned toward the house.  The lane continued on to neighbors she only saw in passing.  They offered slight nods or waves, but Ashlynne didn’t know their names.

When she reached the porch door – the screen door on the small entryway they called a porch, but was really just a room full of broken appliances and other junk – a dozen cats swarmed around her legs.  Ashlynne’s family took in all kinds of strays.  Kaitlyn said they helped keep the mice down, so they fed the cats once a day to keep them around.  The cats sucked as mousers, though – the house was still overrun with vermin.

“Yeah, yeah.  I’ll feed you in a minute.” Ashlynne brushed the cats out of the way with her left foot.  Just enough she could open the screen door.  She made sure none of the cats snuck in behind her – no one had bothered to train them to use a litter box.  If someone had, maybe they would be allowed inside and then mice wouldn’t be an issue.

Ashlynne found the hide-a-key on the porch and let herself in the house.  Dropped her book-bag on the chair next to the door.  On top of the box on the chair next to the door, actually.  A mouse rattled around in the box, wreaking havoc on discarded junk.  Ashlynne locked the door behind her, continued into the house, through the tiny kitchen and to the even smaller living room.  Grabbed the phone off the couch’s arm rest and dialed Kaitlyn at work.  It rang through to voice mail.  “Hi, Mom.  I’m home now.”

She moved to the kitchen, took some hamburger out of the freezer and put it in the sink with some cool water to thaw.  Spaghetti was effortless.  Boil water, add noodles, brown burger, open spaghetti sauce, mix everything together.  Even after today’s stress, Ashlynne couldn’t screw that up too much.  “Don’t be too sure,” she mentally snarked.

She headed to her room and grabbed her radio – it rested against the wall next to her bed frame to provide background noise while doing homework and trying to fall asleep.  Showering with the radio blasting might put her at ease.

Ashlynne plugged the radio into the bathroom outlet and was about to undress when she realized she hadn’t fed the cats yet.  She slipped her flip-flops back on, scooped up some cat food, and dumped it in the bowl outside.  The cats fought over the food and Ashlynne headed back in the house.

She glanced at the clock hanging in the dining area.  Four thirty.  An hour left until Ashlynne needed to start dinner.  She went back to the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get hot. She undressed and glanced in the mirror; faint pink rivulets still ran down her breasts, shoulders, and stomach.  The water at school had been hot!  But it seemed like there was something important earlier, in the steam and the mental cloudiness, the sound of millions of water droplets echoing against the concrete floor and walls of the gym shower.

The shower sounded different at home, of course, since it wasn’t made of concrete.  Ashlynne’s daddy had added two bedrooms onto the old one-bedroom farm house when they moved in.  He never updated the bathroom, though.  The shower was an old rusted metal frame – solid on three sides and open on one to step into, with a plastic curtain hanging there.  It was about four feet wide on each side and seven feet tall.  The water sounded like rain on a tin roof.  Steam clouded over the top of the shower and fogged the mirror until the red rivulets disappeared from view; Ashlynne’s face slowly clouded, too.

Hot drops of water pricked her skin when Ashlyne entered the shower.  “Fishin' in the Dark” blared over the radio, but she couldn’t find her voice to sing along.  The tune changed as suds pooled at her feet and the DJ announced Garth Brooks’ “That Summer.”  Disgust settled over Ashlynne and her stomach churned.  All that leather hands and velvet touches.  As Garth’s smooth voice blasted out of the radio, Ashlynne forced herself to continue her shower routine, working a deep conditioner through her hair.  She rested her forearms against the metal wall of the shower, folded one across the other and laid her head on top.  The hot water pulsed against her lower back.

Garth crooned about velvet hands and dancing wheat fields and thunder and lightning and Hunter’s name began bouncing around in Ashlynne’s head, frustration building.  His hands, his touch.  Memories that robbed her of her peace.  The song ended, she rinsed conditioner from her hair with water that was cooling, turned the shower off, pulled the curtain open, and froze.  The bathroom was full of steam, and Ashlynne saw a man standing by the door.  Average height, slim build, medium-length hair, a smile on his face.  Hunter.  His words echoed in the small bathroom.  “Wanna do me a favor?  Wanna do me a favor?  Wanna do me a favor? Wannadomeafavor?”

Foggy Memory #2

Last week was super busy with my oldest's 7th birthday.  SEVEN!  My goodness.  She had a super-fun weekend, and now here's a new post to share. :)


Colt sat across from Ashlynne – his back to the window, long legs sprawled across the seat, dusty boots almost touching Ashlynne’s flipflops.  She closed her eyes and tried to block everything out, resting her back against the window – hot air blowing her hair in wild wisps around her face.  A tumbly, twisty curtain to hide behind.

When Ashlynne didn’t respond to Colt’s comment about her disheveled appearance, Colt taunted her physically.  He slouched down in his seat until he could tap her feet with his boots.

With her best “back off” glare plastered on her face, Ashlynne met his eyes.  Arms crossed over her chest, she imagined everything about her posture screaming “leave me alone.”

“What’s wrong with you today?” he asked.  He wore his typical goofy grin as he kicked her foot gently again.

“Leave me alone,” Ashlynne responded, dark thoughts clouding reason.  He was just joking around, she knew that.  Messing with her like Ethan typically would.  But Ashlynne was still caught up in the gloom of trying to figure out what had happened in the shower earlier.  She closed her eyes again.

“No,” he said.  Colt pushed Ashlynne’s foot aside so it hit the floor of the bus.  “What’s wrong?  Why are you in such a shitty mood, Ash?”  One of those “good ol’ boys”, proper language wasn’t always on his tongue.  The light joke in his voice earlier was gone.  He sat on the edge of his seat, his feet planted in the aisle, his torso invading Ashlynne’s personal space.

Ashlynne stood up to find a different seat.  Colt stood and blocked her path.  Refused to move when she told him to.  The bus driver stopped in the middle of the road and told them both to sit down.

She tried to move past Colt, but couldn’t squeeze by.  His eyebrows rose on his face and his eyes met hers.  Other kids stared as the bus driver squawked an order to sit down.  Colt smirked as Ashlynne slumped back down in her seat and the bus lurched forward again.

Colt’s smile softened when he asked – again – what was wrong and reached a hand out to touch her arm.  Ashlynne pushed him away.  Colt wouldn’t let up, though – poking Ashlynne’s legs with his fingers, he kept asking why was she in such a horrible mood.

Exasperated at his relentlessness, Ashlynne screamed – not a yell, not a raised voice, just screamed like a crazy person, like a bratty child – “LEAVE ME ALONE!”  She screamed, her throat throbbed with the effort, she choked on the pain.  But still, she screamed again, and hot tears flowed as the pain combined with embarrassment – knowing how absurdly she was behaving but at the same time feeling unable to rein it in.

With her every scream, Colt asked what was wrong.  After a few minutes of screaming, Ashlynne gave another screech that ended in choking tears.  Colt lost patience.  “It hurts, doesn’t it?” he demanded as Ashlynne coughed and gagged.  He huffed as Ashlynne screamed and choked and coughed all over again.

The bus was almost at Ashlynne’s house when she gave up screaming and just cried – silent and self-conscious, her throat throbbing.

“Do you feel better now?” Colt asked as she sat up and wiped tears off her face.  The bus was stopping at the bottom of her lane.

Ashlynne shouldered her book bag, stood up, and looked into his green eyes.  A hoarsely whispered, “No,” was all she could say before she hung her head low and shuffled down the aisle and off the bus.

At the bottom of her lane, Ashlynne turned around.  Colt sat at the window staring at her, concern etched across his face as the bus drove away.

A Foggy Memory

It was the last period of the day – gym class.  After dressing down into shorts, a T-shirt, and sports bra, Ashlynne moved from the locker-room into the gym.  Coach was setting up for basketball scrimmages.  Ashlynne was never athletically gifted – coordinated enough to smack a softball and run bases in the church league, and enough rhythm to cheer and do a dance routine, but running while dribbling a big orange ball?  Throwing the ball to a teammate without mixing up steps and dribbles into a travel?  Forget it.

An hour ago Ashlynne’s mom, Kaitlyn, blew a gasket; Ashlynne used her lunch money to buy small bags of chips at the vending machine instead of utilizing the school’s excuse for a lunch program.  Her mother’s reaction surprised Ashlynne; the two had always joked about how disgusting school lunches are.  She didn’t imagine her mother was upset about the nutritional value of potato chips – this was the woman who kept the house stocked up on Little Debbie snacks for breakfast and after-school snacks.  Who refused to buy apples and bananas because she didn’t think her children would eat them.  Yeah, sometimes the fruit went bad.  But, hey, there were Little Debbies to devour, too.

Kaitlyn was probably pissed because the school secretary called her at work when Ashlynne tried to cash the check meant to cover this week’s lunches.  Ashlynne noticed the secretary wincing when she overheard Kailtlyn yelling over the phone.  A bubble burst – they were not a perfect family if her daughter was skipping meals and eating junk at school.  What did Ashlynne think her mom had been working for all this time?!  Ashlynne didn’t share her opinion that Kaitlyn worked because she couldn’t stand being shut up in the house with twin babies.  It didn’t help that last year Kaitlyn had shared a memory with Ashlynne; one of how colicky baby Ashlynne was and how difficult it was to put up with the constant upset stomach, the loud cries.  The only one who could ever calm her down was her older brother, Hunter.  He’d sing softly in the rocking chair, walk around outside in the evening breeze, snuggle in his own bed until Ashlynne fell asleep.  Kaitlyn had some peace this way, was able to tend to baby Ethan, Ashylnne’s twin.  It was no wonder to Ashlynne that Kaitlyn ran to work.  This was, of course, not how Kaitlyn saw the memory.  Kaitlyn meant it was hard to hear her baby be in such discomfort and feel like there was nothing that would truly help.  But of course, teenage Ashlynne heard what she wanted to hear, heard an echo of the truth she accepted in her heart.  There was something wrong with her from the very beginning. 

Ashlynne didn’t bring up that conversation – just mumbled an apology she didn’t really feel.  Kaitlyn said they would discuss the issue later that evening and then she slammed the phone down on her end, leaving Ashlynne to stare at the receiver in her hand before quietly placing it back on the cradle on the office desk.  The school secretary looked at Ashlynne with sad eyes, handed her five lunch tickets in exchange for her mother’s check, and offered a couple dollars for the vending machine.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I didn’t think –”

“It’s okay,” Ashlynne cut her off.  She picked up the lunch tickets, left the dollar bills on the desk, and walked to the girls’ locker-room.  In the bathroom area, she grabbed paper towels, soaked them in cold water, and held them to her face as tears spilled past her eyelids and turned the cold rough paper warm.  When the tears stopped, she threw the paper towels away, soaked fresh ones in cold water, and again held them to her face until the splotchy redness faded from her cheeks.  Then she dressed down and made her way out to the gym.

Not wanting to add more frustration to her day by being confronted by a lack of athletic ability, Ashlynne asked Coach if she could just run laps all period instead.  He looked at her like she was a nut.  “You’d rather run for fifty minutes instead of playing ball?” 

“Yeah.  Is that alright?”  When he shrugged his ascent, she started off.  Around the outside of the basketball court, up the stairs to the bleachers, across the very top, down the stairs, and around the court again.  The class started every day with five laps, and Ashlynne found extra comfort in the monotony.  One foot in front of the other was something she could dominate.  Around the court, up the steps, across the top of the bleachers, back down the steps and around the court again.  Her cross-trainers beat a rhythm against the backdrop of the bouncing basketballs and the triumphant cheers of her classmates as they drove in lay-ups and sunk three-pointers.  Ashlynne stomped up the stairs to the bleachers, slapping out her frustrations with every step.  Why couldn’t the secretary just cash out the check?  And offering a couple dollars for chips after she overheard Kaitlyn's berating?  Ashlynne don’t want her pity.  Yeah whispered a voice inside.  You’re feeling sorry enough for yourself as it is.

Around the basketball court, pound up the stairs, across the top of the bleachers, down the stairs again, around the court.  Ashlynne’s calves were burning now, her sides ached.  Her breaths were heavy puffs, gasps.  She liked this; the physical pain numbed her emotions.

Pounding up the stairs again, she began releasing her anger.  Realized her mom was probably just having a stressful day and had overreacted to the exchanging check issue.  They’d talk about it tonight, unless Kaitlyn forgot and just got wrapped up in a show instead.  Was it wrestling night?  Law & Order?  Some new reality contest series?  As the sweat ran down Ashlynne’s neck, making her shirt cling to her back, beading in a pool between her breasts, she felt her stresses float away, evaporating off her mind as her body tried to cool itself.

Eventually she was lost in the slap, slap, slap of her feet on the gym floor, the stompstompstompstomp as she puffed up the stairs again, the basketballs pounding on the floor and her classmates hollering at each other as they enjoyed their game.  Down the stairs, around the court, up the stairs again.  Across the bleachers and down, ‘til Coach blew his whistle and shouted, “Shower!”

Ashlynne slowed to a stop, leaned against the brick wall of the gym, and drew in ragged breaths, trying to bring her heart to a slower, steady rhythm.  When she wasn’t fighting for every breath any more, she headed to the locker-room.  The busses would leave to take students home in about twenty minutes.

Normally she didn’t bother with a shower in the locker-room after gym class, preferring to wait for the privacy of a shower at home.  So did the other girls – well, most of them stayed after school for track or softball practices and would get sweaty all over again anyway.  Ashlynne normally didn’t work this hard in gym, though.  Her clothes clung to her body, her pony tail was drenched.  Sweat streaked across her splotchy red face.  You look ridiculous that voice taunted again.  But, no one could tell she'd been crying before class.

Ashlynne decided to at least rinse off before changing back into her regular clothes.  She didn’t have a towel, though.  Crud.  She decided just to do the best she could, subbing her sweatshirt for a towel.

In the shower area, Ashlynne chose a corner faucet out of view of the entrance, hung her sweatshirt-towel on a hook a few feet away, and turned the shower faucet on, giving the water time to heat up before she stepped beneath the spray.  She stripped out of her clothes and tossed them in an opposite corner.  Before long, the shower area was full of steam and the water was hot – too hot to stand under. 

Although Ashlynne had never showered at school before, there was an eerie familiarity in the steam-filled room and the hot water searing her skin.  The sound of water hitting the concrete floor felt amplified; every drop that splattered at her feet echoed in her head.  Muffled out the banter of the girls by the lockers.  The steam was everywhere; she couldn’t see the faucet control on the wall, had to feel blindly until her hand settled on it and turned the dial.  The water still burned as she stood under the spray, but she clenched her jaw and tipped her head side-to-side, rotated under the burning spray till all the sweat drained away.  Ashlynne lost herself in the familiarity – it wasn’t a comfortable knowledge, and she wanted to figure out what dark something was lurking.  A memory of a hot shower, a room full of steam, a dial she couldn’t find, water she couldn’t cool.

She turned her back to the shower, yanked the elastic band out of her hair, and tipped her head back as the water ran over her head, down both sides of her body.  She discovered bright red rivers twisting across her breasts and stomach.  She stared at her body, unable to make sense of the painful awareness, unable to place her memory.

“Ashlynne?!”  A voice snapped her away from trying to figure out what was going on and her heart slammed into her chest, panicked.  Hunter?  Shit!  She could have sworn that was her oldest brother’s voice, though reason dictated it must’ve been coach, trying to prod her along.  Hunter wasn’t even in the state anymore.  She had to get dressed and run to catch the bus home, or she’d have to wait at the school until her parents picked up Ethan from practice.  Which meant Kaitlyn would have to cook dinner tonight.  “One more way you’ll disappoint her today,” piped Ashlynne’s inner voice.

Ashlynne pushed the negative thoughts aside, turned off the water, grabbed her sweatshirt and briskly dried off – as well as she could with a sweatshirt, anyway.  She slipped the damp sweatshirt over her head, gathered her gym clothes, and headed to the lockers.  Hastily pulled on her jeans – no panties, they were sweat-soaked – and stuffed the rest of her clothes and her cross trainers in her bag.  Her wet hair left little rivulets across her cheeks and forehead.  She slipped into flip-flops and rushed out of the gym, toward the busses.  “Don’t get left behind,” she heard Coach calling after her.

Little kids were lined up outside the small elementary school; there were still a couple minutes until the bus would leave.  At her small country school, elementary, middle school, and high school students all rode together.  Ashlynne slowed to a walk and had her breathing under control again when she climbed the bus steps, said “Hi,” to the driver, and chose a seat toward the back of the bus.  All she could think about at that moment, as she leaned against the window and stretched her feet across the seat, was why her mind screamed “Hunter!” in a panic when the coach called her name.

She closed her eyes and tried to push all thoughts out of her mind, but the edges turned black and everything flooded – the conversation with Kaitlyn, skipping lunches, the creepy feeling in the shower, and hearing Hunter’s voice in the middle of everything.  Anger built up inside and she desperately wanted to change into running clothes and make everything melt away.

She heard another voice just then.  “Jeez, you look like shit.”  And a chuckle.  Right away she knew it was Ethan’s friend, Colt, but she wasn’t in a mood to joke around or be pestered.  She just wanted everything to disappear.

Grandma

I can see her now, in the kitchen.  A pair of blue slacks like the sky on a clear day.  A flowery blouse – no sleeves – with a collar.  The only woman I can think of who wasn’t afraid to show her arms in her older years.  She was always proud of her petite frame.  We could have shared clothes in my teenage years, had our styles aligned.

I must’ve been about five that morning, maybe six.  No doubt still in my pjs, home-cut mullet still rumpled and ratty with sleep.  Morning breath probably thick in my speech – we never brought toothbrush & toothpaste with us.  Why would we?  We didn’t use them at home. 

Grandma never seemed to care, though.  I close my eyes and see her smiling at that ratty little girl, a big hug as she wished me good morning.  She was making pancakes.  She made the best pancakes – light and fluffy, wonderfully golden brown.  As many as we could stand to eat.  With warm syrups and bacon and hot cocoa, too.

The best part of pancakes with Grandma wasn’t the smell – melted butter and hot coffee, a freshly baked cake to devour after our evening dinner.  It wasn’t the pastoral setting – high on a hill, miles of pasture around us, not another house in sight.  It never occurred to me then that someone must’ve come out to tend those fields.  Grandpa never did.  I wonder about that now, decades later.

No, the best part of pancakes at Grandma’s was that Grandma could make pancakes in just about any shape you could ask for.  Stars, crescent moons.  My brothers teased her, asking for basketballs or watermelons – obviously she could do those.  My request was always the same, and she must’ve known what I’d ask for as sure as she knew the sun would shine down its golden warmth or that Grandpa would catch the most fish that afternoon.

Still, after a tight, morning-breath-drenched, I-love-you-this-much hug, she asked me, “What shape pancake do you want this morning?”

And her eyes twinkled with delight as mine surely must have, too, when I answered, “A bunny rabbit!”  I’ve tried, in my adulthood, to make bunny rabbit pancakes and they inevitably bear better resemblance to watermelons and amoebas.  I did, however, surprise my girls with heart-shaped pancakes for Valentine’s Day.  And I enjoyed, as Grandma must’ve, the amazed look on their faces, disbelief in their voices, “How did you do that?  How did you make these?”  Christina was convinced someone had taught me.  And as she and her sister devoured their holiday treats, I drifted back to that kitchen, the dining room with shag carpeting, and I saw a lovely lady in pants blue like a robin’s egg, a flowered sleeveless blouse, hot pink lipstick her only makeup.  Hair freshly curled in tight, short curls.  Soft eyes smiling over a coffee cup while her granddaughter devoured bunny rabbit pancakes and cocoa.  In that moment, watching my girls live out a moment of my history, I was intensely thankful that not all of my early childhood memories are sad ones.