Snakes and I do not get along well. Scratch that. Snakes want to KILL me and I want to run and hide in my impenetrable blanket fort whenever I see one because, well, everyone knows blanket forts keep the evils of the world at bay. I have had a massive phobia of snakes since before I can remember, and of sharks, but that is for another time. The mere sight of a snake gives me heart palpitations and messes with my ability to properly think. I am being quite literal when I say this; my brain absolutely turns to scrambled mush and as a result, my subsequent actions become rash and fool-hearty.
Take, for instance, my encounter with a simple, harmless, minding-its-own-business black Racer Snake. It was a bright, sunshiny day and I had decided to take a walk. So off my teenage, immortal self strode, down the winding dirt roads I called home at the time and away from the house. I took my time, meandering from side to side of the deserted roads, plucking random wild roses and imagining the amazing wedding I would some day have to whatever guy I was currently crushing on. (I was a mite boy crazy as a teen). Occasionally I would stop and belt out a song, envisioning the crowds at the The Grand Ole Opry screaming my name as I mesmerized them with my silver goddess voice. Of course, on the rare occurrence a truck rumbled by me, I quickly shut my mouth. It wouldn't do to have people thinking I was crazy as a loon or anything.
So on I went. About halfway into the walk, the Arkansas humidity was beginning to pool in damp, rubbing spots on my body and I was severely regretting my decision to walk. Only a glutton for heat stroke took a walk in the middle of the day in the Arkansas summer. I wasn't a fool, per se, but I did cause and receive a good deal of strife in my house and so a walk was my escape - from both my actions and my consequences. I reached a fork in the road and to the left, a bare, dry strip stretched out, wavering in the heat, and to the left...Ahaha!!! Shade! Bring it! Shade in the Arkansas heat doesn't mean much except the lack of sun, the temperatures still stay the same. Still, it was shade and I was going that direction for sure. To the right I headed. Plus, I knew that a short ways up the road there was a small trickle of creek that ran across the road. I could stop and soak my face there.
I was about a hundred yards from the creek crossing when I halted in my steps and scrubbed the sweat from my eyelids. I peered ahead of me. Yep. Sure enough. There was a large, black object piled high in the center of the road. Immediately I felt the rise in my heart rate. It was a snake, and a big one at that. He was coiled up in all his scaly glory and, as I saw upon closer inspection, paying absolutely no attention to me whatsoever. It was hot and he had found a cool spot in the dirt and shade. I was simply a nothing passing by. This is what I know in retrospect. At the time, however, this snake was evil and the epitome of my fears and he would KILL me if I turned my back. Never mind that he was a perfectly NON-venomous snake. At the time, my mind went something like this:
It's a Racer! Maybe he hasn't seen me. Oh, crap, I bet he HAS seen me. I bet they aren't called Racers for nothing. He looks huge. And fat. I bet he just ate so maybe he'll be slow. Or maybe he won't. Wait. Isn't there a type of snake in these parts that is super aggressive and will actually chase a person? I'm sure I hear that somewhere. But he isn't moving. Maybe he is dead! Yesss!! Dead, dead, dead-y dead! He's, Ahhhhhhh!!! (Jumps three feet in the air as the snake shifts its head) Okay. Not dead. Very much alive. Oh shoot. Now he's looking at me. Wait a minute. He's a snake. He's a reptile. I'm a human. I'm a brave human and nothing gets the best of me. Maybe I'm only scared of snakes because I've never confronted my fear. Yes. That's it. Now I know what I need to do. You hear that snake? I have to confront you. Get ready for it. I'm coming. I can do this.
And so it went in my head as I carefully, tremblingly took step after step, willing my body closer to the snake. The close I got, unfortunately, the bigger I realized the snake was. When I was about five feet away, I stopped and darted my eyes from side to side. It had dawned on me that I needed a stick to hold the snakes head down and I needed a long one. Lucky for me, the road I was on was encased on either side by bushes and trees. Finding a stick was easy. However, once I had the stick, I discovered I was still too petrified to do much and the stick was thinner than the snakes body. This wouldn't do at all. So I gave myself a deal. I would toss the stick onto the snake and if the snake slithered away, I would not have to confront the snake because I would be allowed to run in abject terror in the opposite direction. If the snake didn't move, I would continue with my confrontation. What snake doesn't move when something lands on it, right?
As my deals with myself tend to go, this particular one backfired and the snake merely readjusted his fat coils as the stick landed across his back. I stood gaping, highly aggravated at the snakes lack of concern for the crazy girl throwing sticks at it. Off I went in search of another stick which I promptly tossed onto the snake and then another. I continued this for another five or six sticks and the snake continued watching me curiously. Finally, I admitted defeat. The snake was getting the best of me, lying there calmly in the road while I darted back and forth grabbing and tossing sticks, letting out puffs and squeaks of terror each time I got near the snake. This would never do. Now or never.
Grabbing a stick as thick as my arm and as long as my body, I darted forward before I could think it through and smashed the stick down just behind the snake's head. If ever a snake could look startled, this one surely did. Instantly, the snake let out a hiss of protest and his coils unfurled...revealing, to my complete dismay, at least five and half feet or more of snake body. This snake was way bigger than I anticipated and now I knew I would die. I had pinned it down and this snake would surely kill me for disturbing it. Now I really had no choice but to grab it up because, well, tossing the stick and walking away was not an option.
Pressing far harder than I am sure was necessary, and shaking like a loose leaf in a hurricane, I worked my way up the stick. The snakes body continued to roil and curl and straighten and the nausea inside of me threatened to spill over. Still, I continued with my task until I was in touching distance at which point, not giving myself a chance to throw up and chicken out, I jabbed my hand out and grabbed for all I was worth the base of the snake's neck. The stick clattered to the ground as I locked my elbow and kept my arm as straight and far from my body as possible. Meanwhile, my feet were doing the horrified, adrenaline dance and the noises I was emitting sounded much like a dying rooster.
Now I had the snake and the snake, probably sensing the stupidity level in the girl holding him, hung limply and calmly from my hand, only the very tip of his tail (which happened to drag on the ground, so long was he) twitching occasionally. What was I going to do. Rational though was slowly attempting to work its way back into my brain and the first flicker of light that came to me was, "What on earth am I going to do with the snake now? It's longer than me and if I put it down it will more than likely bite me on principle alone."
No one would ever believe I had conquered my fear of snakes. Not without proof. Well, proof was currently dangling from my hand. About face. Back up the dirt road I marched, snake trailing, headed for home to show every one that I was brave! It didn't take more than a couple hundred yards for my arm and my head to realize this was a very heavy snake and I had a long way to go. The only problem was that now I had convinced myself that to release the snake was to get bitten. I needed to get to my brothers so they could ooh and ahh over my bravery and then take the snake from me. Forward ho! No stopping now.
By the time I reached our property I was soaked in fear induced, stupidity encouraged, exhausted sweat. Man, did I ever stink! I smelled horrible! In fact, by the time I caught sight of my dad and brother in a field in the distance, I smelled so bad I was even embarrassing myself. Ew! It was like my mom's compost pile had met a sewage dump and the two had played patty-cake and I was the result. Ugh and blech!
Picking up my pace and lifting my chin and planting a smile on my face to show nonchalance and bravery, I hitched the snake higher and approached the edge of the field.
"Dad! James! Check out what I caught!"
My dad glanced up from whatever he and my brother were working on and raised his eyebrows. James perked up and looked slightly impressed although not as impressed as I had hoped he would. "That's a big snake," called James. "Is it a Racer? Why are you choking it like that? It looks dead."
I glanced at the snake. It DID look slightly dead, I admit. I checked my Dad to see what he thought and he was shaking his head, going back to his work. "Toss that thing into the woods, Brook," he ordered. "That thing stinks. They kick off an odor when they get scared. Get rid of it before you stink, too."
Down drooped my face, and down came my arm. The snake stinks when scared? All hopes of impressing others with my so-called bravery faded as I realized the snake was the one with the flavorful scent and the snake was probably more scared of me than I of it. How dare it?! And now I felt like an idiot. I had just gone through several minor heart attacks and a number of ridiculous dance steps aiming to impress people and to prove to myself I could conquer all fears. Ridiculous...again...as usual...only me. Sigh.
Still, all of this didn't ease my fears in releasing the snake any. Assuring I was out of sight of my dad and brother, I jigged from foot to foot as I hovered over a ditch leading into the woods. Counting to three, multiple times, I finally convinced my hand to let go of the snake and I flung with all my might. Which wasn't much. My arm was dead tired and the snake plopped into the soft foliage in front of me. For a minute the snake and I froze, staring at each other. And then, with a single readjustment of his muscles, the snake sent my brave self fleeing down the road as fast as I could possibly go.
By the time I had reached my house, I had come to a very simple conclusion. Some fears should just be left alone.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
In Retrospect and of Letting Go the Hay Bale
I should have let go of that darn hay bale! Who in their right mind continues to hold on as the world inverts itself before their eyes and then promptly tumbles to the hard ground below while a torrent of scratchy, packed, square bales continue to rain down on top of them? This girl, right here. Apparently. In retrospect, I am sure letting go would have been far less mortifying and painful. Unfortunately for people like me, we don't think in retrospect before the fact. Often, for people like me, it takes years - in my case, almost twenty years.
The truck that carried the bales was, at one time, an old camper. This particular camper had been an old Winnebago from the late 70s or early 80s and had carried the clan of my Iron Family from Virginia to Arkansas where we began living the country life a year earlier. As of that ominous, hay bale attacking day, the old camper had been given a hefty makeover. The living quarters had been torn off, leaving the bare, flatbed bottom, and the cab was all that remained. We had ourselves a right, regular, hardy farm truck.
On this day, my dad, my brother James and my brother Thomas and I had all headed out to a nearby field where we were gathering and stacking dozens of square bales. There was an old, four room house on our property - a call to a different era - wherein we would be transporting the bales and stacking them for the winter that was to come. All day long, under the miserable heat that is Arkansas climate, we grabbed hold of taught twine, hefted and tossed bale after bale onto the back of the flatbed. My dad, wanting to make as few trips as possible, and being the ever efficient man that he was, stacked those golden squares higher and higher and higher until a tower of shade fell over us on the ground below.
It seemed to take forever and by the time the last bale had been stacked like the fittings of a rubix cube and we were all covered healthy, alternating layers of sweat, dry grass dust, spider webs, and gnats, I was more than ready for a refreshing breeze and a break. So when my dad asked which of kids would like to ride atop the mountain of hay and keep it steady for the bumpy drive to the old house, I was quick to volunteer. Up over the hood and the roof of the cab I scrambled and onto the top of the bales where I made myself a comfortable seat smack dab in the center.
"Now listen," my dad called up to me from what seemed like very far below. "Spread yourself out. Lay on your stomach and hang on to the twine so you don't go bouncing off." (The road we were to travel was a pothole marked, boulder checkered, rivet worn dirt road that wasn't even comfortable to walk on, let alone travers from atop a rickety flatbed load of hay bales. "I don't need you falling off so just lay still and try to keep the bales steady."
Fall off? Who? Me? Pft! This was going to be a blast. I wasn't going to fall. I was going to let the breeze blow through my crusty, plastered, sweat soaked hair and enjoy the view. Still: "I'm not going to fall, Dad!"
My dad gave me a look that I have long since learned to recognize as his "Too smart for your own good, huh - look and then told me, "Well, now, I don't want to lose any bales so if those bales come down you better come down with them." I took this to mean, Don't let go! Hang on to them!
The whole ride back to the old house was uneventful save the occasional wobble of a bale or the slight, stomach churning, two inch air lift my body did from time to time as the truck encountered a large rock or crevice. Initially, I took my dad quite seriously and plastered myself like a four limbed star fish to the top of the stack of bales. Stretched limb to limb I, I dug into those bales with all the force I could muster. By the time the entrance to the field in which stood the old house came into sight, however, I was thoroughly relaxed. Sure, the hay was poking me uncomfortably, and sure I couldn't stop sneezing from the dust in my nose and eyes, but the breeze had dried my sweat prickled skin and the rocking of the truck was lulling me into a false sense of security.
Turning off the dirt road to enter the pasture to reach the house was a tricky thing. The dirt road was not wide and on one side was a long stretch of barbed wire fence. The pasture surrounding the old house was also encased in barbed wire fencing and held only a narrow gap through which the truck could pass and so the turn in to the field had to be executed at just the right angle. To top it off, not only was the angle sharp, but there was a small ditch and then a sharp rise of ground where the truck would have to be revved in order to get keep the weight of the bed of the truck from becoming stuck.
My dad, giving me more credit than was my due worth and apparently believing me to be smart enough to still be aware of my surroundings, hollered out his window for me to "hang on" and then cranked the steering wheel.
Bump! went the front two tires as they hit the small drop and Lurch! went the back of the truck. Vrrr!! went the wheels as they plowed down and up, gaining momentum to haul the remainder of the load over the small obstacle and into the field. Uh-oh...went my mind.
My eyes flew open, my body lifted off the bales and was airborne for a brief second in which I latched onto the twine wrapping the bales and tangled my fingers into unbreakable knots. Oof! Back down I went. Phew. That was close. And then the back tires hit the same dip-and-bump the front two had except this time my dad really had to floor to keep the tires from becoming stagnant and stuck. The truck lurched drunkenly from one side to the next, the bales began rocking and trembling dangerously, and I; I realized with dismay that the stack of bales was going over and my hands were hopelessly caught in the twine. There was no getting free and, as the top level of bales went flying off, I made up my mind (perhaps I was justifying the inevitable fall I knew was happening) that I was nothing more than an obedient daughter. Dad had told me to stay on no matter what and I was staying on this bale. No matter that I had all but chained myself to it and couldn't let go even if I wanted to.
What happened after that was a dizzying blur of toss, tumble, blue sky, ground, hay bales, tires, shouts, more blue sky and impact that sent the breath out of me in a whoosh. I wasn't graceful enough to twist like a cat and land bale first. Nope. I landed on my back, bale solidly anchored to my center, and curled around it like a monkey. I managed to let out a pitiful wheeze and open my eyes in time to see about a dozen more bales rushing towards me with glee. The thud, ouch, grunt, mommy, smack of the ensuing bales left me winded and with little breath. I was vaguely aware of my dad shouting, the brakes of the truck screeching, and the sound of doors opening and feet rushing. Then the bales were being tossed aside and my dad was extracting my vice like fingers from the bale.
"What in the world, Brook. What were you thinking? Are you alright?"
As my senses began to collect and my breath painfully crept back into my lungs, I became aware of my brothers watching me, trying hard not to laugh. How dare they? Well, as much as the panic and adrenaline demanded I cry, I was not going to let them see it. So I struggled to my feet, hitched my nose into the air and told my dad, "You s-s-said that if th-the bales came d-down I had better c-c-c-come down with them!" The last word was spoken with a note of defiance, daring anyone to pity or laugh at me.
An incredulous look crossed my dad's face and then one of annoyance. "You doggone knucklehead," he said. "You know I didn't mean that. Brush yourself off and let's finish this."
He strode away and my brothers followed, howling with laughter. As their laughter faded out, and they walked off, I discreetly brushed a tear of pain and embarrassment away with one hand, and rubbed my very sore back with the other. No matter. Laughter was better than pity any day. Even the annoyance at my ridiculousness that crossed my dad's face was better than pity. Back to work.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
He's Not Crazy! He's Just Misunderstood; or, the Mule that Tried to Kill Me
In my world, there is nothing I cannot do; there is no bridge I cannot cross, no mountain I cannot scale, no river or ocean I cannot swim and there is certainly, under no circumstance, a horse or horse-like animal that does not, will not love me! Mules are no exception. They WILL love me. I will look into their big, soft brown eyes and they will adore me. They will automatically trust me and think to themselves, "Now here is a lady that knows what's up!"
The setting: Missouri, just north of the Arkansas border. Down miles and hours of winding country highway which are really nothing more than a narrow strip of blacktop with faded yellow dividers and rampaging country-boy drivers with little to no concern for their vehicles well being as the careen about sharp, blind corners with the speed of a sin with the devil on its tail. The more detailed setting: One sharp turn off the country highway and down a potholed half gravel half blacktop road at the end of which Cedar trees tower haphazardly around a rustic looking log cabin. The yard is bare except the occasional splotch of abused and neglected grass. Other than that, the ground is dirt and gravel. Near the far back corner of what passes for a 'yard' is a roughly thrown together corral no more than 20'x20' at the most.
The characters: One young man that I guessed to be in his mid to late twenties, one older man with a half-bald head, pot belly protruding from beneath a pair of threadbare overalls, and five or six teeth mysteriously gone missing. My dad, my mom, my six siblings and...me. Wonderful, brilliant, fearless, all knowledgeable thirteen or fourteen year old me.
The reason:
Wanted!
Docile, gentle trail horse or mule on
which children may learn to ride.
Must be kind, sure-footed, and saddle and bridle broke.
Owning a horse of my very own had been a life-long dream. Could I ride one? Pft! Of course! After all, when I was nine my dad took me to a place that offered pony rides; and while those ponies may only have ever plodded in a dejected manner continuously about a steel bar, tethered to a moving circle, I had not fallen off and had even been told I had a 'natural seat.' Of course I could ride. And then let's not forget the hours I spent galloping about on my imaginary horsey-friend Diamond-Star-Bangles-Jubilee. I knew exactly how to ride a horse.
Pulling into that shambling, somewhat questionable, lot where we were to inquire about a mule for sale, I admit I had my doubts. I wanted a horse and a mule is certainly no majestic steed! But, it had four legs, a man - of sorts - and a long tail. It smelled like a horse, sounded mostly like a horse, and, I was sure, would love me like a horse is supposed to. It had been a long drive in which I had spent most of it envisioning the way my hair would trail behind me in the breeze as the steed, er, mule carried me in long strides across the open country-side of our Arkansas farm and in which I caught the eye of a rodeo cowboy. Never mind that there were no rodeo cowboys in the vicinity we lived, my beautiful mount would draw them in.
We children tumbled out of the old van, tensions high with excitement at the prospect of finally purchasing our first animal to ride. The old man aforementioned rocked back o his heels from his position on the cluttered front porch, spit a stream of tobacco, lifted a hand, and hollered, "Y'all here about tha' mule?" When my dad confirmed, the old man ambled down, yelling for "Jimmy! We got us some inner-ested buyers. Leave off that what-fer and bring tha' mule on out!"
"Jimmy", the younger man, left something he had been tinkering with and headed towards the corral we had passed coming down the driveway. My heart was aflutter with excitement! How could it not be? A horse, or mule! Finally. This was it. There was no way we would leave this place without my dad having made a purchase. Granted, it was a mule, but so far, fingers crossed, that hadn't seemed to phase my dad. Mules are sure-footed, easily trained, and generally docile animals. My dad had spent the first thirteen years of his life on a farm and he was comfortable and in-charge around any number and type of animal. It was all I could do, as my dad chatted with the old man, to stand still and not bounce from foot to foot. I listened in on the conversation between adults with one ear, and eyed the corral greedily with one eye.
"So," the old man was saying. "This hure mule is 'bout five years old and he's a small fellow. He ain't got too much height on 'im like most mules but he's got a good pace an' he be a good first ride fer yer young 'uns."
"What's his temperament like?" wanted to know my dad.
"We-e-e-l-l-l-llll," drawled the old man, giving my dad the shifty-eye and spewing another stream of tobacco out on to the ground. "I reckon he can be a bit feisty but that's jest the spirit in 'im. You don't want no mule that don't do nothin' but stand thar when ya' try an' ride 'im. Here he come now."
We all turned to watch Jimmy approach, leading what could possibly be our newest member of the Praught animals. Jimmy was coming, alright, but the mule was an entirely different matter. He was medium height for a mule, nothing too intimidating, and he was an ugle mixture of color - something between a sickly grey and a road kill hash brown. He had already been saddled and bridled before we arrived, apparently, and there turned out to be a very good reason for this as it had probably taken the two men several hours of cussing, fighting, and sweating to get the said objects onto the mule. The mule? Oh, my, the mule! Jimmy was coming towards us, grunting and straining on the reins, and the mule was doing his best to lock his front legs and go backwards. There was a wild, flashing in the mule's eyes as they rolled in his head, the whites showing, and his teeth were bared beneath pulled back lips.
"Jest show 'im who's boss, Jimmy!" This from the old man before turning to my dad and hurriedly explaining, "He jest wants to get on back with his buddies, is all an' he's a bit nervous with strangers but I promise ya', he's a right good animal to learn to ride on."
At this point, the mule leaned forward, bowed his neck, and lashed out viciously with one back leg then immediately attempted to chew out a chunk of Jimmy steak. Luckily, Jimmy was quick and promptly walloped the insane animal across the chin. It was also at this point that my dad directed us children to back away from the animal we had all been clamoring to get a look and touch of. Ever the obedient children and, plainly, the sensible ones who sensed danger, my siblings darted back and away from the lashing legs and nipping teeth. The old man was doing his best to assure my dad that this wasn't normal behavior and, hey, as a sign of good faith, he would even let a couple of us kids take turns being led around on the mule's back.
Thank you kindly but, "I don't think that mule has a nice bone in his body and that is not feisty that's downright psychotic!" exclaimed my dad. The old man could see my dad would need some convincing so Jimmy was ordered to tie the mule up to a tree a short distance away so he could 'calm down' and we children were told to go play but to stay clear of the mule.
As the adults began to delve into conversation, I could see my dreams of owning a magnificent steed slipping from my grasp. This would never do! I must have a horse, or mule, and THIS one was the one I was going to own. Why, look at that mule, standing serenely under the tree, tail swishing gently at flies, head hanging contentedly. There wasn't a mean bone in the mule's body. Why, I bet the owners were villains who abused the poor thing. Oh, they may look harmless but I was not fooled. I had read Black Beauty and I had read The Black Stallion. All this mule needed was confidence, love, and a gentle hand. Who better to provide those things than Horse-Whisperer Me?
I continued to innocently run about with my brothers and sisters, but I kept one eye on the mule and one eye on my parents. Slowly, gradually, sneakily I moved one step closer, and then another and then another towards the mule, careful not to draw attention from the adults or my siblings. It took several minutes of stealth but soon enough I was within arms reach of the poor, misunderstood animal. That poor, misunderstood animal also happened to have lifted his head warily and begun eyeing me threateningly. But did I notice? Of course I didn't. I had star in my eyes. Love in my eyes. Confidence in my step. A whisper and a coax in my voice. This mule would hear my voice and all would be right in the world!
"You're such a beautiful boy, aren't you?" I kept my voice low as I slowly reached out a finger. I tried to remember everything Alex from the Black Stallion had done to tame the wild animal. Voice low, movements slow, eye contact maintained. Check, check, and check. Whoa! I snatched my fingertips back just in time to save them from immediate amputation by teeth. Well, that was odd. No matter. I would not be deterred. Once more, I reached forward a hand. Once more the teeth snapped at me accompanied, this time, by an aggravated kick of the hind leg that was, luckily not pointed in my direction. Back and forth we went for what felt like hours but, in reality, was only a few minutes.
Well, this is stupid, I thought to myself, greatly aggrieved and feeling much betrayed by certain authors. I love this mule, can't he see that? He should be nuzzling my hand at this point! Maybe he just thinks I want to sit on him and then beat him - as the owners surely do. That's it! I'll just get on him and then he'll see I mean him no harm. I only want to sit on him and let him feel my love through my body language.
It's a wonder, I often think now, many years later, that I have survived thus far in life with all my bones and teeth and mental capacities in tact. Surely, had not the good Lord watched over me time and time again, I should have been badly injured or even dead.
My thoughts did not work like that at thirteen and fourteen. No. Instead they worked with a single-minded imperviousness to anything being impossible to me. So, to the side of the mule I went, managing to keep all my fingers and flesh as I jabbed in a grabbed firmly ahold of the side of the bridle. By doing this, I was able to control the mule's head and keep the sociopathic intent of the animal away from me. Poor, poor, misunderstood animal. Right? Now I found myself in a predicament, though. I needed to get my foot into the stirrup and grab both the front and back of the saddle to pull myself up but I only had one hand and the mule was now rocking his body like the USS Crazy Town in order to keep me off his back. He was just nervous. That's all. I just needed to take charge and show him.
One foot was hiked up into the air as I careened my leg back and forth, trying to slip my toe into the wildly swinging stirrup. My balance was a war that I was losing and suddenly my palms started sweating! Oh no! I was losing my grip on the mule's bridle and therefore my control of the teeth. The mule's head was turning, the legs were stomping and this mule had murder in his eyes. He was taking a person out today and that person was going to be me. Maybe I bit off more than I could chew? No! Never!
"You stupid animal!" I muttered, hopping about on one leg and chasing the stirrup with the other. "What the heck's the matter with you? Let me get on or we can't buy you and I want to buy you! Maybe I'll just quit and then you'll be left ere and the owners will keep beating you and then you'll remember the girl who you could've let love you and, oh boy, you'll be sorry, then! Stand still you moron!"
My toe found the edge of the stirrup. Yes! I was going to win!
"Brook Marie!" My dad's voice bellowed across the yard, startling me, causing that familiar you're-in-trouble-now flutter to jump in my stomach and disconcert me. "Get away from that crazy, stinking animal right now before you get yourself killed.
I stumbled backwards, releasing the mule, and propelling myself out of reach of the murderous animal just in the nick of time. Jimmy had come barreling over at the shouts from the old man who was probably seeing a lawsuit in his very near future, my siblings had come to a standstill and were gaping at me, and my mom looked ready to beat me or have a heart-attack, I wasn't sure which. One of the reins used to tie the mule up and had come loose and Jimmy managed to snatch up the reins just as the mule pulled free and made to come after me.
"What in the world is wrong with you?" barked my dad.
Face beet red with fear and embarrassment, I hung my head. What could I say that would make anything I had just done look smart? "I'm sorry but I just wanted to prove I could tame a psychotic animal in a few minutes flat? It worked for the Black Stallion? I need a majestic steed to gallop off into the sunset with?" Nothing seemed feasible considering my near death by mule experience and so I said nothing.
Even now, looking back on it, I can't think of a single excuse that explains why someone would invite a mule to kill them. Every now and again, though, I wonder what ever happened to the animal and if he ever changed. I don't know. But I do know that if ever an animal needed a psychiatrist, it was that crazy, stinking animal.
There still isn't much that I think I cannot do. I still pretty much consider myself infrangible and all-powerful. I did, however, learn early on that crazy animals are crazy animals and they need someone even crazier than me. Mules just aren't my forte, apparently.
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
The Game I Played...
When I was nineteen, I met a young man: William. He was, I believe three years older than me. Up to this point in my life I had made it a habit of studying those around me. I enjoyed the feeling of being "chameleon-like" and how I could slip into different characters and modes to match my settings. Even the way in which I spoke was interchangeable. Doing this was fun for me. The drawback, I suppose, if I had to choose a drawback, would be never really knowing my true self in the sense a reader only truly knows a book in which they have read every word. I often worried that I would be found out for my pretenses but I worried because then it would mess up my ability to slip in and out of any circumstance I chose. For this reason, I was meticulous and calculating in the personas I chose and I was extremely careful to never falter or make a mistake. Of course, there were always people who seemed to see through me during my younger life. My dad, for instance, had, and still has, the uncanny ability to look at me and know if I am being fake or real. For this reason, I can honestly say that my favorite parent is my father. Pretense is not necessary around him because he will simply call me out on it.
So William. Twenty-three and a virgin with gangly limbs and an acne marked face. His skin was pale and his eyes a powdery blue and his hair was nearly white it was so blonde. He gave off the appearance of a young man who was uncertain in his place in the world. I met him when we were both active duty in the Navy and I met him through another man I was already manipulating to believe I was the be all to end all. I took one look at William on that particularly sunny day on the second story balcony of the barracks in which we resided and I knew that he would be fun. He would not be fun in the sense that he had an extremely interesting and charismatic personality but he would be fun in the sense that he would lap up any attention I offered him. And so the game began.
I got to know this young man. My initial instinct had been right. He was insecure about where he stood with people, namely with women. He was extremely close to his family and his grandparents and he had a few very loyal friends. Beyond his close-knit community, people often looked right through him. He was not memorable in any particularly unique way. According to him, when I asked - and he was very eager to have a female show interest in him - he had been ridiculed by peers and teased and isolated much of his life by his peers simply for being unattractive and, in his own words, a bit of a geek. And a bit of a geek he was. He was obsessed with science-fiction and the fantasy realms, particularly dragons. I remember entering his room one afternoon shortly after I had begun playing with him and seeing dragon statues and min figurines everywhere. He was quite proud of them but hesitant to show me as he probably thought I would be yet another person to think oddly of him for his obsession. I could have cared less. He was a pawn and in order for the pawn to follow the Queen the pawn had to trust the Queen. So I squealed in delight and awed with interest over each and every dragon he had. I insisted he tell me about each of them: where he had gotten them, who had given them to him, what his connection to each was and so on and so forth. This was the opening I needed.
After the dragon incident, William began to see me rather adoringly. He realized that I was not going to make fun of his likes and/or dislikes. He came to see that when he wanted to talk I would actually listen. He wanted someone to admire him for him and o I showered him with admiration. I also realized, however, that he was living in a shell. If I wanted him to be truly devoted to me I would have to pull him out of his shell. And so I maintained a level of my normally staggering amount of confidence and I began to infect him with it. There was a party one Friday night and he did not want to go - he was concerned because he had not been invited. Neither had I but this did not concern me in the least. There would be alcohol and plenty of people whose attention I could garner.
I was young and spent nearly five hour every day in the gym and running to make sure I had a fantastically sculpted body. After all we live in an age of sensuality and what better way to draw attention than with the sensuality I had begun physically developing at the age of 9? On went the short, cotton skirt and the clingy tank top and knee high black boots. I showed up at his door and told him he would be my date. One look at me, brimming with confidence in myself and fake adoration for him and thoughts of not attending fled his mind. Throughout the night, I ensure that he was close and the object of my fond, random touches, and sweet half-smiles but all the while I was playing on his insecurities because I was using my charm and charisma and body to pull in every other male there. He was at the center of my attention while at the same remaining distant. I made sure of it.
At the end of the night, poor William, thus far neglected by the opposite sex, felt as if he had found the most amazing woman in the world. He was shy and introverted while I was loud and extroverted but still interested in him. Things continued like this for over a year. Meanwhile, I kept him just close enough to be part of the crazy, adrenaline-fueled world I lived in and just smitten enough that he would never willingly walk away from me. When others teased him I was his defender. When he felt down, I was his champion. When I was sent on a job by the Navy for 30 days, I sent him countless letter. I needed, at this point, to control his emotions from anywhere. And I did. He would do anything for me.
I remember just five weeks after meeting me, he was so enamored that when I randomly showed up at his door, asking for use of his brand new car to get my driver's license, he didn't blink. He just handed over the keys. He never let anyone touch his car but when I asked, and conveniently told him it was an errand I had to do alone, he never hesitated to give me the keys. He didn't need to know that I would often use his car to go see another man. He only needed to know what I was showing him. And I showed him a lot.
A month into the game, he revealed to me that he was still a virgin. Having been raised in a family that did not believe in sex before marriage, this was a revelation I was well-equipped to deal with and use to my advantage. He told me how he had promised his grandmother he would wait for marriage and then a year later his beloved grandmother had passed away. This actually played perfectly into my game because he was in no way attractive and I only had sex with the best looking men and therefore had no desire to ever have sex with him. After all, most men wanted me sexually so why shouldn't I choose only the best looking? I assured William that I was fine with that; that I believed the best relationships lasted , not because of sex, but because of genuine understanding, acceptance, and friendship first. I did wonder if he had ever been kissed, however, and he told me no. He wished to save that for the girl he someday, hopefully, became engaged to. Thus I found my first notch in the game. Of course, I first needed to verify that he was not also playing me. I became friends with all of his friends and when his family came out to visit for a brief amount of time, I ensured that they, too, loved me. Through these calculations and manipulations I was able to find out everything I needed to know about William. He was, indeed, a purely genuine guy. There were no pretenses with him. He was who he portrayed himself to be.
I spent a month subtly working him up to the point where, when I finally asked, he could not say no and he allowed me to kiss him. He didn't have a clue what he was doing but I did. He believed it was true love. I believed it to be a triumphant victory. After that, keeping him chained to me was much easier because if he ever began to feel neglected I needed only to coddle his emotions and give him sweet kisses and all was right in his world again. I made everything exciting for him because I didn't have boundaries and he did. He went to New York on leave for several weeks and I begged him for the biggest teddy bear he could find. He came back with one half the size of me and proudly handed it over. It was small, in the grand scheme of the game I was planning, but it was still just one more thing I proved to myself. I could get him to the point where he would deny me nothing. And I had an end game to what I wanted.
When he returned, I made a huge scene about how much I had missed him and then we drove to the center of downtown Honolulu. After parking, I took this normally mellow young man who never crossed boundaries and raced with him up the stairwell of the tallest building in the city. From there I convinced him to keep lookout while I broke into the roof access doorway and dragged him out on the roof with me. I could see the addiction for me growing stronger in his eyes every time I fearlessly rushed across a boundary and brought him with me. Another time I raced a police officer down the highway in William's car and then, when pulled over, I calmly and sweetly talked my way out of a ticket. William was infatuated with my carelessness of how I lived my life.
This relationship, which was not really a relationship, continued for a year. I think it only continued that long because for six of those months we were separated by a deployment. I had a goal. I wanted him to tell me he loved me and I wanted him to love me with every ounce of his being, before I went on deployment. After five months, a few weeks before I was to deploy, he told me he loved me. The reciprocating lie came easily from my lips because this as what I had been working towards, in part. We went to the mall after, and as we passed a jewelry store, I knew the moment had come. I dragged him in, claiming I just wanted to look because they had new pearls out and I loved pearls. He obliged, of course. My real purpose was to see if he would buy me an engagement ring without me asking.
At the glass counter I found the prettiest black pearl ring I could find. I oohed and ahhed over it, gushing about how gorgeous it was and how I adore pearls but had never owned one. I knew, when he told me he loved me, that he would want to marry me. After we left the store, I never brought up the ring again. We parted ways a few weeks later, me inducing pitiful tears about how much I would miss him, and him promising to write me every chance he got. Deployment was a breath of fresh air. He had grown stale and old in my eyes and here, away from friends of his that could report my comings and goings, I only had to maintain the relationship façade via the occasional phone call and letter.
It was during this deployment that one of his friends called me and let slip that William had purchased the ring I had been wanting. I knew, then, that it was game-set. I waited until one week before I was to return and called William. In fake remorseful tones I told him that I didn't really love him and that I had just wanted to make him open up to the world and that when I had told him I loved him it was only as a friend. The whole conversation was very hard - on him. He cried a little and his heart shattered and on the other end of the line, I was rolling my eyes and motioning my friend to wait for me and give me a minute to get off the phone. I promised poor William I would see him in a week and we could talk, then.
I was going to have that ring, though, because that would be the ultimate power play. I would get him to hand over the ring despite the fact that I had just brought his whole world crashing down around him. A week later, I sat in his room and soothed him, hugged him, placated him, and insisted I would always love him. I admitted how wrong I had been and that I never meant to hurt hm. He was still hoping against hope I would "come to my senses" and he obviously still loved me beyond measure. Finally, I managed to tear myself away. But not before asking him to show me the ring. He did. I asked to try it on. With a spark in his eyes, he readily agreed. The ring fit perfectly and sparkled darkly. I had no intentions of giving it back. I walked out of that house with the ring still on. He followed me like a lost puppy to my car where I gave him one last peck and told him if he really wanted the ring back I supposed he could have it. I gave him the most regretful, love filled, sad look I had ever given anyone and he slowly shook his head. No, he said, it was mine to keep. He had bought it for me, after all, and he would never give it to anyone else. I think he was still hoping for a change because he asked me to call him sometime.
I never contacted him again. I never even went out of my way to see him again. I had the ring, I had his heart, and I had his emotions. All the friends I had made through him, I lost when I did that to him. His family that had loved me and called me daughter, despised me. I didn't care. They had never really been my friends, just tools. And his family had certainly never been my family, just unwitting accomplices.
*Please note: This is not the blog where I justify anything. This is not the blog where I go behind the scenes and share the thousands of tiny details that went into this game and this is not the blog where I portray guilt. This is simply the blog where I share an excerpt from my past.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Heat Stroke and Mules of Exaggerated Proportions...The Final Chapter
Have you ever poked the side of a bowl of Jello and just watched, mesmerized, as the wobbles and currents of vibrations rippled through the colored, but translucent gelatinous product? Have you ever thought, "Hey! I bet it would be fun to jump in a pool filled with Jello!"? Well, I have. And on that mutinous day with my family, making the insane round trip hike of 8 miles to the bottom and back up of the Grand Canyon that was recommended by experts to actually be done over the course of two days, my body slipped into that pool of Jello and everything anatomical on me began to rebel.
My pool of Jello that I slipped into happened gradually and without the benefit of being cool or refreshing. By the time we had reached the bottom of the Canyon, our clothes, previously soaked in that cool oasis stream, had turned dry and crusty, sticky to and off of our bodies in hard angles that rubbed our skin like sandpaper - at least, it did mine, I cannot account for my siblings who, as I have mentioned before, seemed to be born with a blessed, heat-resistant, sweat-resistant spoon in their mouths.
The bottom of the Canyon loomed below us, just beyond a jutting wall of orange and grey rock. I think the sight was welcome, or beautiful, but honestly, the main memory that sticks with me is that of looking behind me and up and realizing, with utter dismay, I would have to haul my Jello-y legs, upper thigh heat rash and all, back to the top. That memory, of seeing the sun blazing down into my eyes, and the walls of the Canyon towering mockingly over me is forever singed into my brain. I have tried locking it away in the "Not My Finer Moments of Adventure" part of my mind but it will having nothing to do with locks and keys. I was sweating, amazingly, though I didn't think I had any liquid left in me to sweat out, and the rash from the combination of skin rubbing, wet clothes drying, dust slathered awesomeness was a festering, pink reminder that I wasn't quit the Iron Child I initially thought myself to be.
At this point, I think even my Dad was tired because I saw the look in his eyes when he glanced back up the walls of the Canyon. He didn't comment on what the hike back out might be like, however, because he had a plethora of children around him, looking at him, knowing he was the strongest, toughest, best dad to ever traverse these switch-y Canyon paths. Instead, he said to us, "Shadow Ranch is just around the next few bends. Look, you can even see the bottom and the Colorado River from here." We all clambered to look. Well, they clambered, I attempted to hold my shorts away from my legs as I waddled over begrudgingly. Sure enough, there was the River, a short ways below us. "I think maybe we should just head back up," announced my Dad. "It took a little longer than I expected to get down here and we don't want to be caught in the dark halfway up."
There was zero arguing to this suggestion, which only further emphasizes how weary we children really were. I think James, ever the "best" of us, said something along the lines of "We could have made it if we left earlier; I feel fine." He liked to swim and at that moment, I considered letting him swim...in the Colorado River...with just a quick pus. He wouldn't be hurt, right? Okay. Bad thought. I couldn't push my beloved brother who was practically my twin.
The water bottles, refilled at the stream we had stopped at, had once again dwindled down until now, as we prepared to make the trek out of the Canyon, there were only 3 left. They were in the bag on my Dad's back and as we began walking back the way we had come, my bringing up the rear, I stared at the bag longingly. I was never very good at math but just then, I was doing some calculating. 5 of us kids plus my dad plus 4 brutal, climbing miles ahead of us, plus one miserable, inferno drenched sun, minus 3 bottles of water...there's something fishy about these numbers. I don't trust them.
The sun, if it were possible, was shining even hotter. At this point, I could practically see the steam rising off the rocks and dirt surrounding us. I tried to distract myself as I plodded along; and I tried very hard not to resent my little sister, Lee. She was the youngest of us to come on this trip and I want to say she was eight or nine years of age. I glared at her back. Look at her. Just bouncing along next to dad, skipping and tra-la-la-ing like she doesn't have a care in the world. Telling me, "oh, it's not that hot," and laughing and saying "Brook looks so red!" Why can't she be tired. What does she think she is; a mountain goat?
I admit, my finest thoughts were not happening during those steps back up the Canyon. I also admit, however, that for the sake of my well-being and maintaining an "I'm tougher than this old Canyon" façade, I tried very hard to think of anything but the fact that I now felt as if my legs had gained an additional hundred pounds each. So I focused on the walls rising steeply to my left and kept my eyes darting over them constantly, looking for a hand hold or foot hold...
Iiiicccceeee Cccrreeeaaammmm.....Mmmmm! Yes. I would eat as much ice cream as I could shovel into my mouth the second we made it to the top. But wait. What about all the calories I was burning with this walk of death? Never mind that. Those pour calories were crying. See that tear? See all the tears? Yes, my sweat was the tears of my calories as they were brutally and without discrimination burned from my body. The poor things needed sustenance. I could lose the weight later. Right now, it was game on with the Ice Cream Vending machine I had seen back by our cabin. What was in there? Ah. Chocolate Chip Cookie Ice Cream Sandwich. Mouth watering (well, it would be, if I had any saliva left but the heat stole that from me, too.) Wait a minute. There was an ice machine. That was even better. I was going to crawl into it. After all, it was the big, cooler type of machine that you opened up and dipped into for a small, sensible bucket of ice. Sensible? Pft! I was done being sensible. There was nothing sensible about my entire current situation. Hey! That reminds me...When we lived in Okinawa Japan James and I, to beat the heat, would sneak to the Marine barracks and crawl into the ice machines. There we would sit, munching on crunchy cubes of ice. But that cute guy from last night might be out. What if he saw me sitting in the ice machine, gorging myself on the tiny cubes? He would think I was crazy. He wouldn't talk to me. No, that wouldn't do at all...
The ground came up at me fast and, since I was currently occupied with anything but observing my surroundings, my mouth and knees received the majority of dirt and gravel. I grunted in pain and shock to realize that I was now caked in even more of that awful white dust. "You okay?" called my dad. "That looked about as graceful as a ballerina."
I scowled, furious, then embarrassed, then mortified when I saw what was coming towards us. Springing to my feet, I wondered how many of the oncoming mule riders had borne witness to my flying sprawl. We moved to the side, allowing for the riders to pass. I couldn't help but notice that each rider looked fresh and relaxed, not a bead of sweat marring their giddy, smiling faces. Some of them even had the audacity to sip from still cold bottles of water...in FRONT of me! How dare they! Couln't they see I was dying of heat stroke? Couldn't they see me withering away in the heat? Didn't they know it wasn't polite to eat or drink in front of someone without offering to share?
Awww! Those mules were so cute! I wanted one. I should have been allowed to have that sweet, cuddly, psychopath mule from my past. Then I wouldn't be stuck mentally scratching and clawing m way up the side of the Canyon. And why were there so many. This was torture having to stand in the blazing heat as hundreds of sure footed animals plodded past me without a care in the world. They just kept coming and coming. Look at that big, fat, ball of blubber on that mule! Why does he get a mule? I want to be a big pile of blubber so I can ride a mule! The mules would like me. Mules always do. Who keeps this many mules at a Canyon anyway?
"Dad, Brook isn't coming?" Lee's voice sang out, interrupting my delirious mental tirade. At first I wondered why she said that, and then I realized the mules were almost out of sight and my family had continued on while I stood there gaping at lines of passing mules that weren't really there. "Get up here, Brook. Drink some water."
I did as told, trying to subtly drink the whole thing (because I was dying quicker than my siblings and needed it more) but Dad quickly rescued the bottle and passed the remaining waters around. I watched bitterly as it all disappeared. The climb through Dante's Inferno continued.
By the time we reached the rest area-slash-oasis dusk was settling and we weren't allowed to stop and soak. Now, with night coming, it was "hurry up, hurry up," the whole way. Lee still bounced along with energizer bunny legs, James staggered from time to time but kept his head up, Jeneva looked flawless, as usual, with just the slightest pink to blush her cheeks and indicate heat, and Thomas did his best to emulate James and my Dad. I dreamed of Ice Cream, Ice Machines, and large bodies of water. The hot kid from the cabins was but a distant, fuzzy memory at this point.
Occasionally we passed a crag in the Canyon walls from whence trickled tiny rivulets of hot water. Here, my dad would soak a bandana and plaster it to the top of my head. My hair hung limp and stuck to me in greasy tufts, the rash between my thighs was now a cursing, living, breathing dragon, and my crooked eyes had taken to crossing randomly and seeing double.
This is it, I thought, as we turned sharply up another path. This is where I die. This is where the helicopters have to be called in to carry me out. This is where my siblings stop laughing at me and start mourning me. This is where, this is where, this is, this...I didn't even have a thought anymore. All I knew was that my mind had just gone blank and I was never going to survive this.
"There's the top," shouted James and he took off like a rabbit. "Nice job, kids," complimented my dad proudly, with a hint of relief for us in his voice. He looked back at me - I was in tears of anger and exhaustion at this point though I was doing my best o hold it in. They were lying. I didn't see the top. Oh wait. There it was. Who cared? I wasn't going to make it anyway.
"I say we all go get a nice big meal as a reward fro making in one day what others said took two days." This from my dad.
What? Food? I was the second one to the top, mere seconds behind James. That wasn't so bad. Look at me! Look at us! We are Iron Children after all!
My pool of Jello that I slipped into happened gradually and without the benefit of being cool or refreshing. By the time we had reached the bottom of the Canyon, our clothes, previously soaked in that cool oasis stream, had turned dry and crusty, sticky to and off of our bodies in hard angles that rubbed our skin like sandpaper - at least, it did mine, I cannot account for my siblings who, as I have mentioned before, seemed to be born with a blessed, heat-resistant, sweat-resistant spoon in their mouths.
The bottom of the Canyon loomed below us, just beyond a jutting wall of orange and grey rock. I think the sight was welcome, or beautiful, but honestly, the main memory that sticks with me is that of looking behind me and up and realizing, with utter dismay, I would have to haul my Jello-y legs, upper thigh heat rash and all, back to the top. That memory, of seeing the sun blazing down into my eyes, and the walls of the Canyon towering mockingly over me is forever singed into my brain. I have tried locking it away in the "Not My Finer Moments of Adventure" part of my mind but it will having nothing to do with locks and keys. I was sweating, amazingly, though I didn't think I had any liquid left in me to sweat out, and the rash from the combination of skin rubbing, wet clothes drying, dust slathered awesomeness was a festering, pink reminder that I wasn't quit the Iron Child I initially thought myself to be.
At this point, I think even my Dad was tired because I saw the look in his eyes when he glanced back up the walls of the Canyon. He didn't comment on what the hike back out might be like, however, because he had a plethora of children around him, looking at him, knowing he was the strongest, toughest, best dad to ever traverse these switch-y Canyon paths. Instead, he said to us, "Shadow Ranch is just around the next few bends. Look, you can even see the bottom and the Colorado River from here." We all clambered to look. Well, they clambered, I attempted to hold my shorts away from my legs as I waddled over begrudgingly. Sure enough, there was the River, a short ways below us. "I think maybe we should just head back up," announced my Dad. "It took a little longer than I expected to get down here and we don't want to be caught in the dark halfway up."
There was zero arguing to this suggestion, which only further emphasizes how weary we children really were. I think James, ever the "best" of us, said something along the lines of "We could have made it if we left earlier; I feel fine." He liked to swim and at that moment, I considered letting him swim...in the Colorado River...with just a quick pus. He wouldn't be hurt, right? Okay. Bad thought. I couldn't push my beloved brother who was practically my twin.
The water bottles, refilled at the stream we had stopped at, had once again dwindled down until now, as we prepared to make the trek out of the Canyon, there were only 3 left. They were in the bag on my Dad's back and as we began walking back the way we had come, my bringing up the rear, I stared at the bag longingly. I was never very good at math but just then, I was doing some calculating. 5 of us kids plus my dad plus 4 brutal, climbing miles ahead of us, plus one miserable, inferno drenched sun, minus 3 bottles of water...there's something fishy about these numbers. I don't trust them.
The sun, if it were possible, was shining even hotter. At this point, I could practically see the steam rising off the rocks and dirt surrounding us. I tried to distract myself as I plodded along; and I tried very hard not to resent my little sister, Lee. She was the youngest of us to come on this trip and I want to say she was eight or nine years of age. I glared at her back. Look at her. Just bouncing along next to dad, skipping and tra-la-la-ing like she doesn't have a care in the world. Telling me, "oh, it's not that hot," and laughing and saying "Brook looks so red!" Why can't she be tired. What does she think she is; a mountain goat?
I admit, my finest thoughts were not happening during those steps back up the Canyon. I also admit, however, that for the sake of my well-being and maintaining an "I'm tougher than this old Canyon" façade, I tried very hard to think of anything but the fact that I now felt as if my legs had gained an additional hundred pounds each. So I focused on the walls rising steeply to my left and kept my eyes darting over them constantly, looking for a hand hold or foot hold...
Iiiicccceeee Cccrreeeaaammmm.....Mmmmm! Yes. I would eat as much ice cream as I could shovel into my mouth the second we made it to the top. But wait. What about all the calories I was burning with this walk of death? Never mind that. Those pour calories were crying. See that tear? See all the tears? Yes, my sweat was the tears of my calories as they were brutally and without discrimination burned from my body. The poor things needed sustenance. I could lose the weight later. Right now, it was game on with the Ice Cream Vending machine I had seen back by our cabin. What was in there? Ah. Chocolate Chip Cookie Ice Cream Sandwich. Mouth watering (well, it would be, if I had any saliva left but the heat stole that from me, too.) Wait a minute. There was an ice machine. That was even better. I was going to crawl into it. After all, it was the big, cooler type of machine that you opened up and dipped into for a small, sensible bucket of ice. Sensible? Pft! I was done being sensible. There was nothing sensible about my entire current situation. Hey! That reminds me...When we lived in Okinawa Japan James and I, to beat the heat, would sneak to the Marine barracks and crawl into the ice machines. There we would sit, munching on crunchy cubes of ice. But that cute guy from last night might be out. What if he saw me sitting in the ice machine, gorging myself on the tiny cubes? He would think I was crazy. He wouldn't talk to me. No, that wouldn't do at all...
The ground came up at me fast and, since I was currently occupied with anything but observing my surroundings, my mouth and knees received the majority of dirt and gravel. I grunted in pain and shock to realize that I was now caked in even more of that awful white dust. "You okay?" called my dad. "That looked about as graceful as a ballerina."
I scowled, furious, then embarrassed, then mortified when I saw what was coming towards us. Springing to my feet, I wondered how many of the oncoming mule riders had borne witness to my flying sprawl. We moved to the side, allowing for the riders to pass. I couldn't help but notice that each rider looked fresh and relaxed, not a bead of sweat marring their giddy, smiling faces. Some of them even had the audacity to sip from still cold bottles of water...in FRONT of me! How dare they! Couln't they see I was dying of heat stroke? Couldn't they see me withering away in the heat? Didn't they know it wasn't polite to eat or drink in front of someone without offering to share?
Awww! Those mules were so cute! I wanted one. I should have been allowed to have that sweet, cuddly, psychopath mule from my past. Then I wouldn't be stuck mentally scratching and clawing m way up the side of the Canyon. And why were there so many. This was torture having to stand in the blazing heat as hundreds of sure footed animals plodded past me without a care in the world. They just kept coming and coming. Look at that big, fat, ball of blubber on that mule! Why does he get a mule? I want to be a big pile of blubber so I can ride a mule! The mules would like me. Mules always do. Who keeps this many mules at a Canyon anyway?
"Dad, Brook isn't coming?" Lee's voice sang out, interrupting my delirious mental tirade. At first I wondered why she said that, and then I realized the mules were almost out of sight and my family had continued on while I stood there gaping at lines of passing mules that weren't really there. "Get up here, Brook. Drink some water."
I did as told, trying to subtly drink the whole thing (because I was dying quicker than my siblings and needed it more) but Dad quickly rescued the bottle and passed the remaining waters around. I watched bitterly as it all disappeared. The climb through Dante's Inferno continued.
By the time we reached the rest area-slash-oasis dusk was settling and we weren't allowed to stop and soak. Now, with night coming, it was "hurry up, hurry up," the whole way. Lee still bounced along with energizer bunny legs, James staggered from time to time but kept his head up, Jeneva looked flawless, as usual, with just the slightest pink to blush her cheeks and indicate heat, and Thomas did his best to emulate James and my Dad. I dreamed of Ice Cream, Ice Machines, and large bodies of water. The hot kid from the cabins was but a distant, fuzzy memory at this point.
Occasionally we passed a crag in the Canyon walls from whence trickled tiny rivulets of hot water. Here, my dad would soak a bandana and plaster it to the top of my head. My hair hung limp and stuck to me in greasy tufts, the rash between my thighs was now a cursing, living, breathing dragon, and my crooked eyes had taken to crossing randomly and seeing double.
This is it, I thought, as we turned sharply up another path. This is where I die. This is where the helicopters have to be called in to carry me out. This is where my siblings stop laughing at me and start mourning me. This is where, this is where, this is, this...I didn't even have a thought anymore. All I knew was that my mind had just gone blank and I was never going to survive this.
"There's the top," shouted James and he took off like a rabbit. "Nice job, kids," complimented my dad proudly, with a hint of relief for us in his voice. He looked back at me - I was in tears of anger and exhaustion at this point though I was doing my best o hold it in. They were lying. I didn't see the top. Oh wait. There it was. Who cared? I wasn't going to make it anyway.
"I say we all go get a nice big meal as a reward fro making in one day what others said took two days." This from my dad.
What? Food? I was the second one to the top, mere seconds behind James. That wasn't so bad. Look at me! Look at us! We are Iron Children after all!
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Heat Stroke and Mules of Exaggerated Proportions Part 2
Desert mornings are cool - but on this particular morning there was an underlying current of evil in the sensory form of heat squelching across the skin, causing the eyelids of the unsuspecting gazer to spasm in reluctance as sweat trickled down the brow and assaulted the eyes. There was a thin parchment of dried, crusted, salty perspiration that had encased me through the course of the night and, looking at my perky, sweat-free siblings, I was fairly certain that I had been cursed by Hades to always absorb the heat they never seemed to feel.
Still, we were at the Grand Canyon, now, and I was not going to let a little upper-thigh-rubbing heat rash deter me from having a hoopla of a good time. So, with fresh clothes on and adventure in our hearts, we set out from the tiny lodge and headed the remaining mile or so to the South Rim. My dad, being the Marine that was, had hauled us children out of bed bright and early so we found parking with ease. The Grand Hotel was where the car stopped and out on to the still cool but only for a moment blacktop parking lot we all tumbled.
I won't lie. My discomfort in the heat of Arizona was forgotten by me the second my eyes passed over the ridge on which we all clambered and took in the majesty that is the Grand Canyon. The morning sun had broken gloriously over the top of the Canyon and for as far as my eyes could see there were miracles of colors. Paisleys and sage, lilacs and rust, broken blues and starburst oranges ringed and snaked the walls that descended down - so far down. Far below me a buzzard caught a breeze through a gulley and hitched gracefully in a circle, seeking prey.
From my vantage point, watching the bird of prey below, it suddenly struck my mind that I was the prey and the scenery below and before me was my victim. It was a victim to my imagination. I titled my body precariously over the one metal rail and let my imagination take me. I was tumbling! The rail had cracked and weakened in the unrelenting weather elements over the years and now I was falling towards a certain demise of most grisly form. But wait! I'm graceful and lithe and am capable of clear and coherent thought even as imminent death hurtles towards me. As I fall I twist my body, contorting my position, reaching out with my hands. Above me I hear my family yelling, unable to help. And then a ledge is rushing up towards me from below and I crouch my knees, pointing my toes lightly, hunching my shoulders and back ever so slightly so as to absorb the impact I know is about to happen. It is over in seconds but my mind captured it as if it took minutes instead of seconds. The impact jars my teeth and shakes my eyes but the way I have positioned myself ensures that I break nothing. I have landed much like a cat. Far above me and out of sight, blocked by small overhangs, I hear my family calling and crying my name. I am about to answer, cupping my hands over my mouth, when I see the body. Tucked tightly into a crevice no more than two feet high and run parallel the length of the ledge I am standing on, is a body shoved unceremoniously. But there is no fear or surprise in me, just curiosity. I dip down and peer into the gloom of the crevice. It is a teenager - surely dead - and he has been hidden in here. I have found a body! I rush to the edge f my ledge and begin hollering for someone to come down as quickly as possible. I am going to be on the news, I am going to be hailed for my quick thinking and movements and managing to survive a fall over the edge. The parents of this missing boy will cry and clasp my hands and thank me! I will...
Where's my family?! My heart stuttered as a nearby horn of a tour bus blared and pulled me from my dreams of grandeur. I looked around only to see that they had wandered off, thinking I was following. There are so many people here and what if some deviant kidnapped me! "Wait!" I yelled as I pushed away from the ledge and hurtled quite cowardly-like after their retreating backs. "Keep up," was my Dad's response. "I don't want to lose anyone here." Of course not, I think. I just fell off the edge of the Grand Canyon and you all tra-la-la'd away without even noticing.
We wandered along the edge of the South Rim, oohing and ahhing over each new explosion of color or depth that met our eyes until we came across a large tourist board - you know the type; mini little roof protecting it from the glare of the sun, plexi-glass panels displaying a large map with the "You Are Here" sign. This particular sign displayed the various hiking trails one could take into the abyss of the Grand Canyon. Next to each trail name was a description as well as level of intensity. Did we hone in on the beginners trail with the cute smiley face and thumbs up stick figure? Of course not! That would have been so boring. Well, perhaps the stick figure with a single, solitary drop of sweat splashing off him but still a brave smile and the word Intermediate? But what's one drop of sweat when you've come seeking adventure? Bypass that one and move all the way down the long list of trail to the word, written in an alarming shade of red, that proclaimed "Experienced Hikers Only! High Intensity!" Once again, my dad, being the gung-ho, die hard Marine that he is, jabbed a finger on it. "This one! What do you kids think?"
What did we think? Pft! We were farm kids. Rough and tumble and made of the stuff other only dreamed of. "Yeah!" we yelled in a chorus of ignorance. "We can do it!"
And do it we did. By this time the sun was nearing a ten o'clock zenith of raging, hot hatred on my body but I didn't care. I had seen the sign and the description. This particular trail would take us deep into the bowels of the Canyon, almost to Shadow Ranch which was nestled at the lowest, and deepest part. According to the sign it would be a 8-mile round trip trek. Four down. Four up. Who cared. 8 miles was nothing. Shoot. We walked nearly that every day as we ran up and down cliffs and through woods on our farm back home. "It says we need a lot of water," said Dad. Luckily, we were the smart family. We wouldn't come unprepared. Oh no. My dad had a backpack with two 8oz bottle of water per person in it. We were set! Never mind the 90+ degree heat. We were iron children!
Minutes later we found our feet leaving the paved paths running the edge of the Canyon and noisily, exuberantly kicking up small plumes of dust and specks of gravel rock as we began our descent into the Grand Canyon. We were so full of energy and zest and zeal as we skipped and hopped and scurried down the winding cutback trail that sank lower and lower. I was sticky with sweat but from the position of the sun, the walls of the Canyon provided a decent amount of shade and going down is always easy.
Still, because of the way the trail continuously switched back on itself, and got more and more narrow, limiting adrenaline fueled movement, the climb down quickly proved rather tedious work. Several times my clumsy, size 9 feet skittered on a patch of loose rock and dirt and my heart beat screamed that I was going to plummet over the edge and die so there was no room for my imagination to fly. I was focused solely on the exquisite view and staying upright. It was fun. I t was very fun. We laughed and talked and then paused to gawk at the sure-footed line of little mules that passed us, carrying tourists. I didn't know there were mule rides? I like mules. I tried to convince my dad to buy a sociopathic mule once and when he said no I attempted to board said animal - but that's another story for another day. Why were we not riding mules? Oh, that's right. We were iron children. And the trek continued.
It took far longer than we expected to reach just the half way point going into the Canyon and by the time we did there were five bottles of hot water left, and we were all covered in a several alternating layers of white dust and sweat. The half-way point was beautiful! A literal Canyon Oasis calling us in the rest a minute or two. The trail reached the Oasis and the ground leveled out, spreading about in a decent sized circle, shaded by trees, providing a spot to relieve one's self, and, glory hallelujah! there was a fresh Spring of water bubbling up out of the ground and creating a narrow brook that bubbled and trickled happily down the Canyon. We all rushed the wet jewel simultaneously - even my dad. The water was ice cold and crystal clear and numerous other hikers had dropped their well stocked bags and stripped their socks and shoes to rest beside the water.
What a relief it was when my dad told us to take off our socks and shoes and lay in the water. "Wait. You want us to lay down in the water?" "Yes," he replied. "This is a little more than I thought it would be and it's only going to get hotter. We can do this again on the way back up." In we all went. Ahhhhh!!! I couldn't remember the last time water felt so cleansing and refreshing. All around us, people talked quietly, laughing, resting, watching our family in amusement. Who cared? Certainly not me. I was finally not hot. Dipping my head back, I let the water swirl my brown hair and I sighed. Some of the water got into my mouth and I almost spit it out, thinking how many nasty bare feet had been in this creek, but I didn't, because...No one ever drinks water that others are lying in. And if they did, they did it at the wrong time. Once every hundred years, a fissure so small the naked eye cannot see it opens up on the creek bed and releases a potent and powerful stream of Kalimyte. Kalimyte is the essence of life and when, for that brief few minutes it is released into the water, someone drinks it, they will cease to age. I was that person. I was the girl who was in the right place at the wrong time. The life force slid down my throat, absorbed into every pore of my body. A year from now won't make much difference and no one will really notice that I haven't aged or grown. Five years from now they will wonder. Ten years from now I will have been rushed to every doctor known to man. Fifteen years from now I will have to run away, fleeing from those mad scientists who would seek to experiment on the girl who never ages. I will be frozen in the body I have now but I will be hunted. They will come after me. Those sadistic...
"Everybody out," called my dad and my eyes snapped open. Already? I shook off the imaginings and hauled my drenched and dripping body from the creek. As I slipped my socks and shoes back on I couldn't help but wish, with a very tiny part of me, that maybe, just maybe, a little Kalimyte got into me.
To Be Continued...
Still, we were at the Grand Canyon, now, and I was not going to let a little upper-thigh-rubbing heat rash deter me from having a hoopla of a good time. So, with fresh clothes on and adventure in our hearts, we set out from the tiny lodge and headed the remaining mile or so to the South Rim. My dad, being the Marine that was, had hauled us children out of bed bright and early so we found parking with ease. The Grand Hotel was where the car stopped and out on to the still cool but only for a moment blacktop parking lot we all tumbled.
I won't lie. My discomfort in the heat of Arizona was forgotten by me the second my eyes passed over the ridge on which we all clambered and took in the majesty that is the Grand Canyon. The morning sun had broken gloriously over the top of the Canyon and for as far as my eyes could see there were miracles of colors. Paisleys and sage, lilacs and rust, broken blues and starburst oranges ringed and snaked the walls that descended down - so far down. Far below me a buzzard caught a breeze through a gulley and hitched gracefully in a circle, seeking prey.
From my vantage point, watching the bird of prey below, it suddenly struck my mind that I was the prey and the scenery below and before me was my victim. It was a victim to my imagination. I titled my body precariously over the one metal rail and let my imagination take me. I was tumbling! The rail had cracked and weakened in the unrelenting weather elements over the years and now I was falling towards a certain demise of most grisly form. But wait! I'm graceful and lithe and am capable of clear and coherent thought even as imminent death hurtles towards me. As I fall I twist my body, contorting my position, reaching out with my hands. Above me I hear my family yelling, unable to help. And then a ledge is rushing up towards me from below and I crouch my knees, pointing my toes lightly, hunching my shoulders and back ever so slightly so as to absorb the impact I know is about to happen. It is over in seconds but my mind captured it as if it took minutes instead of seconds. The impact jars my teeth and shakes my eyes but the way I have positioned myself ensures that I break nothing. I have landed much like a cat. Far above me and out of sight, blocked by small overhangs, I hear my family calling and crying my name. I am about to answer, cupping my hands over my mouth, when I see the body. Tucked tightly into a crevice no more than two feet high and run parallel the length of the ledge I am standing on, is a body shoved unceremoniously. But there is no fear or surprise in me, just curiosity. I dip down and peer into the gloom of the crevice. It is a teenager - surely dead - and he has been hidden in here. I have found a body! I rush to the edge f my ledge and begin hollering for someone to come down as quickly as possible. I am going to be on the news, I am going to be hailed for my quick thinking and movements and managing to survive a fall over the edge. The parents of this missing boy will cry and clasp my hands and thank me! I will...
Where's my family?! My heart stuttered as a nearby horn of a tour bus blared and pulled me from my dreams of grandeur. I looked around only to see that they had wandered off, thinking I was following. There are so many people here and what if some deviant kidnapped me! "Wait!" I yelled as I pushed away from the ledge and hurtled quite cowardly-like after their retreating backs. "Keep up," was my Dad's response. "I don't want to lose anyone here." Of course not, I think. I just fell off the edge of the Grand Canyon and you all tra-la-la'd away without even noticing.
We wandered along the edge of the South Rim, oohing and ahhing over each new explosion of color or depth that met our eyes until we came across a large tourist board - you know the type; mini little roof protecting it from the glare of the sun, plexi-glass panels displaying a large map with the "You Are Here" sign. This particular sign displayed the various hiking trails one could take into the abyss of the Grand Canyon. Next to each trail name was a description as well as level of intensity. Did we hone in on the beginners trail with the cute smiley face and thumbs up stick figure? Of course not! That would have been so boring. Well, perhaps the stick figure with a single, solitary drop of sweat splashing off him but still a brave smile and the word Intermediate? But what's one drop of sweat when you've come seeking adventure? Bypass that one and move all the way down the long list of trail to the word, written in an alarming shade of red, that proclaimed "Experienced Hikers Only! High Intensity!" Once again, my dad, being the gung-ho, die hard Marine that he is, jabbed a finger on it. "This one! What do you kids think?"
What did we think? Pft! We were farm kids. Rough and tumble and made of the stuff other only dreamed of. "Yeah!" we yelled in a chorus of ignorance. "We can do it!"
And do it we did. By this time the sun was nearing a ten o'clock zenith of raging, hot hatred on my body but I didn't care. I had seen the sign and the description. This particular trail would take us deep into the bowels of the Canyon, almost to Shadow Ranch which was nestled at the lowest, and deepest part. According to the sign it would be a 8-mile round trip trek. Four down. Four up. Who cared. 8 miles was nothing. Shoot. We walked nearly that every day as we ran up and down cliffs and through woods on our farm back home. "It says we need a lot of water," said Dad. Luckily, we were the smart family. We wouldn't come unprepared. Oh no. My dad had a backpack with two 8oz bottle of water per person in it. We were set! Never mind the 90+ degree heat. We were iron children!
Minutes later we found our feet leaving the paved paths running the edge of the Canyon and noisily, exuberantly kicking up small plumes of dust and specks of gravel rock as we began our descent into the Grand Canyon. We were so full of energy and zest and zeal as we skipped and hopped and scurried down the winding cutback trail that sank lower and lower. I was sticky with sweat but from the position of the sun, the walls of the Canyon provided a decent amount of shade and going down is always easy.
Still, because of the way the trail continuously switched back on itself, and got more and more narrow, limiting adrenaline fueled movement, the climb down quickly proved rather tedious work. Several times my clumsy, size 9 feet skittered on a patch of loose rock and dirt and my heart beat screamed that I was going to plummet over the edge and die so there was no room for my imagination to fly. I was focused solely on the exquisite view and staying upright. It was fun. I t was very fun. We laughed and talked and then paused to gawk at the sure-footed line of little mules that passed us, carrying tourists. I didn't know there were mule rides? I like mules. I tried to convince my dad to buy a sociopathic mule once and when he said no I attempted to board said animal - but that's another story for another day. Why were we not riding mules? Oh, that's right. We were iron children. And the trek continued.
It took far longer than we expected to reach just the half way point going into the Canyon and by the time we did there were five bottles of hot water left, and we were all covered in a several alternating layers of white dust and sweat. The half-way point was beautiful! A literal Canyon Oasis calling us in the rest a minute or two. The trail reached the Oasis and the ground leveled out, spreading about in a decent sized circle, shaded by trees, providing a spot to relieve one's self, and, glory hallelujah! there was a fresh Spring of water bubbling up out of the ground and creating a narrow brook that bubbled and trickled happily down the Canyon. We all rushed the wet jewel simultaneously - even my dad. The water was ice cold and crystal clear and numerous other hikers had dropped their well stocked bags and stripped their socks and shoes to rest beside the water.
What a relief it was when my dad told us to take off our socks and shoes and lay in the water. "Wait. You want us to lay down in the water?" "Yes," he replied. "This is a little more than I thought it would be and it's only going to get hotter. We can do this again on the way back up." In we all went. Ahhhhh!!! I couldn't remember the last time water felt so cleansing and refreshing. All around us, people talked quietly, laughing, resting, watching our family in amusement. Who cared? Certainly not me. I was finally not hot. Dipping my head back, I let the water swirl my brown hair and I sighed. Some of the water got into my mouth and I almost spit it out, thinking how many nasty bare feet had been in this creek, but I didn't, because...No one ever drinks water that others are lying in. And if they did, they did it at the wrong time. Once every hundred years, a fissure so small the naked eye cannot see it opens up on the creek bed and releases a potent and powerful stream of Kalimyte. Kalimyte is the essence of life and when, for that brief few minutes it is released into the water, someone drinks it, they will cease to age. I was that person. I was the girl who was in the right place at the wrong time. The life force slid down my throat, absorbed into every pore of my body. A year from now won't make much difference and no one will really notice that I haven't aged or grown. Five years from now they will wonder. Ten years from now I will have been rushed to every doctor known to man. Fifteen years from now I will have to run away, fleeing from those mad scientists who would seek to experiment on the girl who never ages. I will be frozen in the body I have now but I will be hunted. They will come after me. Those sadistic...
"Everybody out," called my dad and my eyes snapped open. Already? I shook off the imaginings and hauled my drenched and dripping body from the creek. As I slipped my socks and shoes back on I couldn't help but wish, with a very tiny part of me, that maybe, just maybe, a little Kalimyte got into me.
To Be Continued...
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Promo Tour & Giveaway ~ Love Notes Boxed Set
Title: "Love Notes": Four Musical Romance Novels
Release Date: February 2nd, 2015
Purchases: Amazon
Synopsis Via: Goodreads
Pain never truly goes away, until you find something deeper and meaningful that cures the heart and fills it with love.
That is what Aurora desperately wants to believe. That somehow her music can save her, or even touch the unreachable heart of the guy she has liked for years.
Rora yearns for his attention and wants to experience this so-called love that could possibly end her long suffering and inspire her to chase after her dreams.
In deeply understanding the feelings of others and herself, will Aurora give up on ever finding true happiness, or will an intriguing soul teach her about the greatest song ever written?
~~From The Author~~
The Right Song
Playlist
One of the ways that The Right Song separates itself from my
other releases is the fact that I’ve implemented my love for music. Over the
years, I’ve written a ton of songs that I haven’t shared with anyone until now.
So, I decided since I’m going to write a book about a girl pursuing music, why
not use some of my own song lyrics. That aside, I still needed inspiration for
the overall feel of the story and to help create a good atmosphere that I can
write in. Here are the songs that have helped me with the development of “The
Right Song” (None applies directly to a scene, with the exception of Never Let
Me Go, Even in Death, and Who Knew):
01. Jena Lee ‘Mon Ange’
02. Florence + the Machine ‘Never Let Me Go’
03. Avril Lavigne ‘Hush Hush’
04. Evanescence ‘Even in Death’
05. Kelly Clarkson ‘Walk Away’
06. David Cook ‘Time Marches On’
07. P!nk ‘Who Knew’
08. Bruno Mars ‘Talking to the Moon’
09. Joan Jett & The Blackhearts ‘I Love Rock N Roll’
10. Halestorm ‘Love Bites‘
Book Trailer
Revenge of a Band Geek Gone Bad by Naomi Rabinowitz
Shy, overweight Melinda Rhodes' sophomore year of high school isn't going so well. Her own mother mocks her weight. Her pants split in the middle of school, earning her the nickname, "Moolinda." She then loses first chair flute in band to Kathy Meadows, her pretty and popular nemesis.
Her luck changes when she catches the eye of Josh Kowalski, a rebellious trumpet prodigy and class clown. Josh has also been hurt by Kathy and asks Melinda to help take Kathy down. Mel figures that she has nothing to lose ... and Josh is adorable with gorgeous blue eyes and a winning smile. She agrees to team up with him and looks forward to finally getting back at her rival.
At first, the pair's pranks are silly, and as they work together, Mel comes out of her shell. Even better, she finds herself falling for Josh and it appears as if he might feel the same way about her.
However, their schemes become more and more dangerous and Mel is surprised to discover her dark side. Just how far will she go to get what she wants -- and is Josh really worth the risk?
***
Straight from the Heart by Breigh Forstner
This is a story about a girl discovering and experiencing life for the first time.
Bryn Schaefler grew up rich. Her parents expected the best out of her, picked her boyfriend for her, and groomed her to be the next trophy wife fresh out of High School. But when they discover she wants to pursue music instead of following in her mothers footsteps, they wanted to hear nothing about it.
That was when Bryn left for good.
By chance, she auditioned for main stream rock band Everlasting. Never in a million years did she think she would make it.
Cale Pelton knew it was his fault for the band scrambling around to find a new guitarist. Once he saw Bryn audition, he knew he had to have her. Not just in the band, but in his mind, body and soul.
This is the first book in the Straight from the Heart series. Follow Cale and Bryn as she goes on her first tour, and discovers there's so much more to her than she ever realized.
***
Pieces of Me by Kira Adams
For sixteen year old Peyton Lane, life has never been easy. She’s not popular, overweight, and oh yeah, her sister is embarrassed of her. But over the course of a tumultuous year, everything changes for Peyton. Suddenly all eyes are on her and it’s not because she’s fat. From a pair of handsome twins to a couple of dangerously sexy rockers, Peyton will have to find out who she can trust with her heart. From the ups and downs to the twists and turns — this is Peyton’s story of finding one’s voice and growing into your own.
This is a coming of age romance that involves realistic situations and raw emotions. This is Pieces of Me.
This is a coming of age romance that involves realistic situations and raw emotions. This is Pieces of Me.
Tour Schedule: Follow the books, follow the blogs!
Kira Adams ~ kristakakes.blogspot.com
Shane Morgan ~ www.shanemorganwrites.com
Naomi Rabinowitz ~ naomirabinowitzauthor.blogspot.com
Breigh Forstner ~ facebook.com/breighforstnerauthor
Two Winners will receive a music note necklace!
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