Too Good To Be True.

The expected rattle of three metal keys hitting against each other inside my purse did not come as expected. I knew today was too good to be true. Now to retrace my steps... The dark ominous hallway with its red-maroon-tan-brown paisley carpet, dingy and stained with the reminders of every flooded tub, busted pipes from the neighbors above, and maybe even a Coca-Cola or two, is showing no signs of a slight glimmer of the silver light reflected off my keys. I reach the elevator, relieved that it hadn’t even left this floor (eliminating the factor that someone had taken it from the elevator), step in and survey the area. Nope. No keys. The ride up one level of hell to the surface of the earth and stumble out of the elevator as if it had contained no air and I was dying for a way out. The lady at the table and the man she was attending to turn and just stare. “Sorry.” I straighten up and continue to look around for my keys. I notice when the man finally turns away and says something to the lady and I hear keys jingle. They could be his, he’s just messing around with them. They could be for the building, the lady at the front desk is just putting them away. I look up anyways. There he stood, holding my keys in his left hand. “Ah, yes. I’ve been looking for those.” The man turns and we lock eyes. I stood there, entranced by this man. He seems so familiar. He introduces himself as Mark Frusciante. I’ll never forget him. I thank him for finding my keys and he leaves. Then, I decide to put all that worry behind me and continue the feeling of having had an excellent day. I retreat down the elevator, down the hallway, and into my apartment. The lack of something sweet to munch on brought me to the prefect finale to this day. The doughnut shop. A warm, deliciously glazed doughnut (or a few) was all that circled my mind as I emerged out of my apartment, down the hallway, and up the elevator into the lobby and out the door. I am a couple of meters from the doors of the doughnut shop and everything goes black along with the sound of a giant computer breaking down. I turn and see the whole town behind me lost in the confusion and darkness. Suddenly, my shadow flew across the street in front of me. It was as if Jesus himself had popped out of the sky, glowing and everything. The only place with power was the place I had set out to reach. Not even the faults of man’s creations could interfere with my quest for doughnuts. I extended my arm out for the door and release the wonderful aroma to spread the sensation of this miracle. No one can refuse.

Dancing in the Wind

A single duck hops into the pond and takes off from the underwater land and begins to swim. The day outside is beautiful. Beautiful enough to skip class for one day. I deserve the reward of a day off after how hard I’ve been working lately. It’s nice to feel the outside for once, instead of just moving through it to my next indoor destination. The wind begins to pick up causing the trees and surface of the water to shake. I lay back against the tree I was sitting up against. Slowly, blink after blink, my eyes shut. The sounds of the park come alive. I’ve always heard the other four senses intensify when one sense is turned off. This moment proved it to be true. I heard everything. I don’t think my sense of smell got any better, and if anything had felt any different, it went unnoticed. But the noise produced by the park were overwhelming. The shimmer of the leaves moving with the wind, the faint splash coming from the duck’s endeavors, the workers at Fu-King Chicken taking out the trash, giggles coming from the playground, a head turning snap of a twig coming from within the forest probably caused by a small animal so it should be nothing to worry about... I block everything else out and focus on the leaves, dancing in the wind. The day became hotter. The wind picked up and it felt as if I were sinking into the ground and the dry grass had engulfed me. I open my eyes to yellow, gold grass glowing surrounding my head. Past the grass was the leaves of the tree, still dancing in the wind. Bells and chimes are hit by the movement of air and begin their melodies. Mama always loved her chimes’ songs so she surrounded the house with them. She says, “Mai il vento soffia in una direzione,” so which ever way the wind blew, a chime would sing. The sound of an old motor grows until it shuts off just around the house should be. I sit up and see Mama, dressed in her favourite skirt that went from her strong yet delicate hips down to the round of her ankle bone. It flowed in the wind, danced seconds behind her own steps, and was the color of fresh basil. Mama loves basil and the color green. She taught me to treat trees as our sisters because they deserve respect for giving us the air we breathe and the color green. She was walking out from under the porch with her chest high and a smile on her face as she usually would because she believed everyone deserved to be greeted with respect. She waits at the corner of the house for the automobile to spit out the news. It wasn’t usual for cars to come all the way out here, unless they were too small and filled with 11 clowns at once, at least that was how much Mama’s friends could get in. Milo, the owner of the mini car and head clown, was a good friend of Mama’s and some times stayed the night. Milo was the older brother I never had. He helped Mama restore our house to something that humans could inhabit after finding it one day on the way across the country for what the carnival master called “a change of scenery.” Milo and Mama thought I should have somewhere to establish my childhood in, so the house was mine. Mama thought her wagon she worked in wasn’t fit for her, her child, and her new American lifestyle. From the car a tall man in a black suit and black hat exits and heads toward Mama. Mama looks like a child next to this man. He reaches his enormous hand out to shake Mama’s, which she places in his as if she were expecting him to kiss it. The tall man leans down to bring his voice closer to Mama. His eyes dart over to where I’m sitting. He’s still talking to Mama. There is no humor in his face. My mother’s head bowed lower and lower as the tall man continued to speak. I had never seen anything lower my mother’s proud head like that. He straightened up and stood waiting for a response from my mother. I could see my mother take a deep breath, filling up with all the pride she had, smiled and finally spoke to the tall man. Her words were brief and ended with, “MICHEL!” Running over to them, I see Mama’s face smiling at her only child with dignity and something that could be described as self- assurance. The tall man’s face stayed stern and so serious it was almost frightening. I stop in front of them and slowly edge toward Mama because the towering man looked as he were ready to tip over and crush me. “Hello young lady. I’m Mr. Connelly. I am from the Departmant of Human Services. How do you like it here with your mother? Do you feel safe every night and day? Is mommy providing you with enough to eat?” The questions were pouring out of his mouth like he had surpassed the feeble humans need to inhale. I look up at my mother who I could see was struggling to keep her face strong, but with each question became weaker and weaker. The weight of the tall man’s words were crushing me and my mother to pulp and she could see the painful confusion on my face and finally said, “Enough.” The tall man kneels down to be on my level, as he had done for Mama, and looks slightly more sympathetic like he was about to tell me he hit my dog dead on his way here. “Just tell me this. Do you want to be like mommy when you grow up?” he asks quietly, emphasizing each word. This question was pointless. Did he not see Mama standing there? Mama is a goddess. She was my everything. She mends every hurt and knew the explanation to everything this world could concoct. “Of course I want to be like my mother.” With that, the tall man stood up, shook Mama’s hand once again and told us he’d be back next month. Now Mama is kneeling, strangling me with her motherly embrace. Mama whispers in my ear that this caused for a celebration and that she needed to call Milo to discuss costumes. Costumes? When she noticed I hadn’t been tailing behind her and that I stood exactly in the same spot, confused. “We must add you to the show! Every one will be so happy!” she exclaims as she dances into the house. Everything now made sense. I stood there stunned and Mama came back outside, still dancing, then quickly stopped when she saw me in the same spot, not moving. I was old enough and had seen enough to know about the world outside of my mother’s blanket and the world she lived in. Stopping in small, on the bridge of being run down cities to set up tents and carts in a smelly lot was like a Monday morning for Mama’s group. Income coming from cheap entertainment and cheating people out of their money was nothing to these people. Being insulted and ridiculed was not what I wanted for myself, or Mama. She saw past all the vulgarity and rudeness of the carnival goers, keeping her head up high. As a young child, it was all fun and games. The vendors would bring me candy and toys, the clowns would make me laugh with their silly gestures, and Mama and the other dancers would dance around the flames and sing for me. But now all the fun was lost at these carnivals. The grotesque lifestyle the clowns kept by selling illegals to the oblivious children’s parents, the inequality of pay, all these things were not what I wanted for my mother or myself. I love my mother so much but she could not trap me into this lifestyle. I look off down the path where the tall man had come from. Mama’s face ran cold. She moved slowly and cautiously down the stairs as if any sudden sound would scare Bambi away. Our eyes met, and I took off. I ran. After the car. I sit up abruptly, see the ducklings waddling behind their mother, and then get up and run. Home.