Kelly Garriott Waite's Blog, page 10
July 11, 2013
Fly
They said I should enjoy every moment of my marriage; the time will just fly by.
They didn't say I'd be saving my cigarettes, scraping them against the curb whenever I go to town for groceries, carrying them around in a vinyl change purse while I stock up on damaged goods--dented cans of corn and five-day-old bread riding around in a cart with a wonky wheel.
They didn't say my husband would blacken my eyes when the kids bring home C's, necessitating a big floppy hat that fools no one, especially Margie, who sells me pea salad and shimmering squares of gelatin half off, even though it's not sale day yet. She dishes up a styrofoam container of gelatin and offers it with shaky hands and a congealed smile across the sterile counter of the deli and I examine the skin on her arms for the burn marks of which we will not speak.
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They didn't say I'd be saving my cigarettes, scraping them against the curb whenever I go to town for groceries, carrying them around in a vinyl change purse while I stock up on damaged goods--dented cans of corn and five-day-old bread riding around in a cart with a wonky wheel.
They didn't say my husband would blacken my eyes when the kids bring home C's, necessitating a big floppy hat that fools no one, especially Margie, who sells me pea salad and shimmering squares of gelatin half off, even though it's not sale day yet. She dishes up a styrofoam container of gelatin and offers it with shaky hands and a congealed smile across the sterile counter of the deli and I examine the skin on her arms for the burn marks of which we will not speak.
Read more here
July 4, 2013
Prospector
Three weeks after they struck oil in Titusville, PA, Louis Alts decided to become a prospector. He cut a branch from the willow that grew outside his bedroom and announced over eggs and bacon, "I'm going into prospecting."
His father looked at him. "You're a farmer, not a doodle-bugger."
But his mother, a forward-looking woman, nodded. "Look for where the earth weeps," she said, patting his hand. "Begin your search there."
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His father looked at him. "You're a farmer, not a doodle-bugger."
But his mother, a forward-looking woman, nodded. "Look for where the earth weeps," she said, patting his hand. "Begin your search there."
Read more here.
June 27, 2013
Rebirth
Agnes rubbed at her swollen left wrist and closed her eyes, as if to shutter out the throbbing.
"What's wrong, Grandma?" A wide-eyed boy, no more than seven, stood before her, his tiny hands resting on the worn blue arm of the chair in which his grandmother sat.
"Fetch me my heating pad, David. I got a pain birthing in my wrist."
David ran to his grandmother's bedroom and retrieved the pad. This he plugged in, and arranged over his grandmother's wrist.
"Not too hot, child."
David nodded and pushed the yellow button--warm--which made a satisfactory click in response.
"Oh, that's better, David," Agnes said, after a few moments had passed. "You're a good boy."
The words filled David with sudden warmth and pride. He smiled.
Agnes opened her eyes and patted her lap. "Come on up, David," she said. "I got me some scarecrow legs for sure, but you don't weigh but a minute." She laughed. "Why I bet that book we're reading weighs more'n you."
He climbed into her lap and stroked her cheek with feathery fingers. "Grandma?"
"Hmmm?"
"You reckon that heating pad will help me?"
Agnes frowned. "You got you a hurt somewhere?"
David blinked and pointed to his chest.
"Oh, David," Agnes said. "There's two types of pain. There's a pain of the body, like this here wrist. Then there's a deeper pain: a pain of the heart. Ain't no pills nor no heating pad gonna' take away that pain."
"We both have a pain of the heart."
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"What's wrong, Grandma?" A wide-eyed boy, no more than seven, stood before her, his tiny hands resting on the worn blue arm of the chair in which his grandmother sat.
"Fetch me my heating pad, David. I got a pain birthing in my wrist."
David ran to his grandmother's bedroom and retrieved the pad. This he plugged in, and arranged over his grandmother's wrist.
"Not too hot, child."
David nodded and pushed the yellow button--warm--which made a satisfactory click in response.
"Oh, that's better, David," Agnes said, after a few moments had passed. "You're a good boy."
The words filled David with sudden warmth and pride. He smiled.
Agnes opened her eyes and patted her lap. "Come on up, David," she said. "I got me some scarecrow legs for sure, but you don't weigh but a minute." She laughed. "Why I bet that book we're reading weighs more'n you."
He climbed into her lap and stroked her cheek with feathery fingers. "Grandma?"
"Hmmm?"
"You reckon that heating pad will help me?"
Agnes frowned. "You got you a hurt somewhere?"
David blinked and pointed to his chest.
"Oh, David," Agnes said. "There's two types of pain. There's a pain of the body, like this here wrist. Then there's a deeper pain: a pain of the heart. Ain't no pills nor no heating pad gonna' take away that pain."
"We both have a pain of the heart."
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June 20, 2013
Dreamers' Club
"Last night I dreamed of Johnny Depp," Lavergne said.
Ruthanne laughed. "Welcome to the club."
Lavergne paused in her work, her buffing rag smothering the business end of the spoon that would, in eighteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds, catch the sluggish sugar poured from a dispenser dotted with ketchup and fingerprints,. "What club?"
"Dreamers' club." Ruthanne cracked her gum. "People begin to dream when they realize their lives are limited. Maybe they're out of options. Maybe they've reached the halfway point in their lives and are wondering: What have I done that is remarkable? Johnny's telling you something, Lavergne. Telling you about what's missing."
"It was just a dream."
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Ruthanne laughed. "Welcome to the club."
Lavergne paused in her work, her buffing rag smothering the business end of the spoon that would, in eighteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds, catch the sluggish sugar poured from a dispenser dotted with ketchup and fingerprints,. "What club?"
"Dreamers' club." Ruthanne cracked her gum. "People begin to dream when they realize their lives are limited. Maybe they're out of options. Maybe they've reached the halfway point in their lives and are wondering: What have I done that is remarkable? Johnny's telling you something, Lavergne. Telling you about what's missing."
"It was just a dream."
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June 8, 2013
Perches for Crows
In the End, the people began harvesting from themselves, opening up tiny sections along their waistlines to extract the fat that would run their homes for another day. Then the power went out forever, and the overhead lines were just perches for crows. The people left their useless houses and stood on concrete sidewalks staring at each other with wide and wondering eyes, blinking blindly in the star-shine.
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June 4, 2013
Freak
"It's a Pre." The nurse's voice was full of finality. "Ten toes."
"It can't be." The mother gasped. She looked from the nurse to the doctor. "I'm a Trans. Brian is a Trans. The chances are..."
"Occasionally two fully-Trans parents will produce a Pre," the doctor said. "I'm sorry." He took the child and handed it to me. "The social worker will take over now."
"But what will happen to it?" The father reached, but I was too quick.
"Next time," the doctor said, as I fled the room and headed to Disposal.
As soon as I passed the last set of cameras, I veered left. "Hurry," someone urged.
I didn't need reminding.
"The red door," I whispered to the child. "We just have to get through the red door."
We did.
I pressed the child into the arms of Lawrence. My job was done.
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"It can't be." The mother gasped. She looked from the nurse to the doctor. "I'm a Trans. Brian is a Trans. The chances are..."
"Occasionally two fully-Trans parents will produce a Pre," the doctor said. "I'm sorry." He took the child and handed it to me. "The social worker will take over now."
"But what will happen to it?" The father reached, but I was too quick.
"Next time," the doctor said, as I fled the room and headed to Disposal.
As soon as I passed the last set of cameras, I veered left. "Hurry," someone urged.
I didn't need reminding.
"The red door," I whispered to the child. "We just have to get through the red door."
We did.
I pressed the child into the arms of Lawrence. My job was done.
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May 28, 2013
Fueled
The books had all but disappeared by the time Miguel was born. Words written were no longer useful for anything but fuel. You could boil water over Atlas Shrugged. War and Peace would fry an egg, provided you could find one. Infinite Jest could soften rice. Fish was done when each page of Les Miserables had blackened and curled and broken into bits that floated away upon the breeze.
The children were encouraged to explore the woods surrounding the village, rewarded whenever they brought something useful to the elders. On his sixth birthday, in the back of a dank cave, Miguel discovered a cache of books, wrapped in blankets and tucked inside several wooden cases.
"Elder Thomas." Miguel handed a book out shyly. "I found more fuel."
Thomas opened the book and ran a hand across the page. He coughed quietly into his palm and then broke into tears. "This is not fuel, Miguel. There are words here. Ideas. Listen." He pointed to the top of a page and began to read. After one page, he closed the book.
"Why did you stop?" Miguel asked.
"Reading is forbidden."
"Why?"
"Books are for fuel."
"The cave is full of them," Miguel said.
Thomas stood and glanced around at the other elders. "Show me," he said quietly.
When he saw the books, Thomas fell to his knees. "You must never tell anyone."
Miguel nodded and scratched at a scab.
Thomas taught Miguel to read in secret, Miguel sounding out exotic words that felt heavy on his tongue.
"You seem to have a talent for words," Thomas said a year later.
In the end, they were discovered hunched over the tiny print of A Wrinkle in Time.
The chief elder, Miguel's grandfather, ordered the hidden books to be burned to burn the bodies of the teacher and the boy.
The villagers watched as blackened bits rose to the sky and blew away.
The children were encouraged to explore the woods surrounding the village, rewarded whenever they brought something useful to the elders. On his sixth birthday, in the back of a dank cave, Miguel discovered a cache of books, wrapped in blankets and tucked inside several wooden cases.
"Elder Thomas." Miguel handed a book out shyly. "I found more fuel."
Thomas opened the book and ran a hand across the page. He coughed quietly into his palm and then broke into tears. "This is not fuel, Miguel. There are words here. Ideas. Listen." He pointed to the top of a page and began to read. After one page, he closed the book.
"Why did you stop?" Miguel asked.
"Reading is forbidden."
"Why?"
"Books are for fuel."
"The cave is full of them," Miguel said.
Thomas stood and glanced around at the other elders. "Show me," he said quietly.
When he saw the books, Thomas fell to his knees. "You must never tell anyone."
Miguel nodded and scratched at a scab.
Thomas taught Miguel to read in secret, Miguel sounding out exotic words that felt heavy on his tongue.
"You seem to have a talent for words," Thomas said a year later.
In the end, they were discovered hunched over the tiny print of A Wrinkle in Time.
The chief elder, Miguel's grandfather, ordered the hidden books to be burned to burn the bodies of the teacher and the boy.
The villagers watched as blackened bits rose to the sky and blew away.
May 21, 2013
Sanitized
Eva perches upon the corner of the narrow bed, and runs a hand across the sheets, crisp and white. They smell of Clorox and this fact makes her laugh for no good reason.
"A laugh. That's unusual." The man in the white coat leans against the wall, arms crossed. Beside him is a rectangular window that allows her a narrow glimpse of the outside world. The before world, as she has come to think of it. The window's metal bars are unnecessary: No adult would be able to squeeze through that opening. "What's funny?"
"The bleach." She crosses her legs and sees that she's too thin. "My life has been completely sanitized. Fresh and clean; new and white."
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"A laugh. That's unusual." The man in the white coat leans against the wall, arms crossed. Beside him is a rectangular window that allows her a narrow glimpse of the outside world. The before world, as she has come to think of it. The window's metal bars are unnecessary: No adult would be able to squeeze through that opening. "What's funny?"
"The bleach." She crosses her legs and sees that she's too thin. "My life has been completely sanitized. Fresh and clean; new and white."
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May 15, 2013
Under Cover
Jennifer Pratt unwraps the cellophane on her pack of Kents and neatly tears open the foil beneath before thumbing the lighter in.
The stranger beside her laughs. "Thought I was the only one to have a car old enough to have one of those."
The lighter pops. Jennifer pulls it out; holds the glowing coils to the cigarette grasped between her lips. She inhales deeply, sucks down greedily. "Want one?"
The stranger waves a hand away. "Can't. Pregnant again."
Jennifer looks at her. "Are congratulations in order?"
"Unexpected, both of them. This wasn't the way I'd planned for life to go."
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The stranger beside her laughs. "Thought I was the only one to have a car old enough to have one of those."
The lighter pops. Jennifer pulls it out; holds the glowing coils to the cigarette grasped between her lips. She inhales deeply, sucks down greedily. "Want one?"
The stranger waves a hand away. "Can't. Pregnant again."
Jennifer looks at her. "Are congratulations in order?"
"Unexpected, both of them. This wasn't the way I'd planned for life to go."
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May 14, 2013
Seedling Star
After dinner, Grandmother shoos Billy and Grandfather out to the garden. Billy lies upon his stomach studying the cracks in the earth, watching an ant take stock of its surroundings, legs and antennae feeling...studying...committing the way to memory. Three feet away, Grandfather hoes between his tomato plants.
They pass an hour in silence. The air cools. The sun nestles into the horizon. Billy blinks and widens his eyes. The stars leap into the sky like popping corn. Grandfather reaches out, then balls his fist. "Quick, child. Dig a hole."
Billy jumps to his feet and grabs a stick.
Grandfather kneels and opens his hand over the hole Billy has scratched into the dirt. "A seedling star is a wondrous thing."
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They pass an hour in silence. The air cools. The sun nestles into the horizon. Billy blinks and widens his eyes. The stars leap into the sky like popping corn. Grandfather reaches out, then balls his fist. "Quick, child. Dig a hole."
Billy jumps to his feet and grabs a stick.
Grandfather kneels and opens his hand over the hole Billy has scratched into the dirt. "A seedling star is a wondrous thing."
Read more here
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