My childhood has been boxed, sealed and sold, or given away.1
I stand at the window and look. They are loading the last box onto a Goodwill truck. They throw, almost as an after thought, my bike 'OLD BLUEBEARD' on top of everything and shut the doors. GOOD,(SLAM) on one door and WILL (SLAM) on the other side. (SLAM) GOOD,(SLAM) WILL echoes in my ears.2
Bluebeard is, or was MY bike. He was second or third hand, a bit rusted on the fenders, with a hard seat, but he was mine, once.3
I grab at Kleenex to hide in. The hot August Sun flings itself through an opened window. Slicing into a room that has already been ripped apart,in such sad haste. I consider it to be a personal insult that the Sun choose this exact time and place to expose me. I gulp for air and almost chew on it to catch some in my lungs.4
A faded thread bared blue velvet box sits on the windows ledge, also revealed in this same assault. It holds my keepsakes, they would be silly things to any one else. Only trinkets to someone looking at them without the memories of meaning they hold for me. Just five things. 5
A smooth rounded pebble with a red heart painted on it. I have carried it often in my pocket for courage. An orange streak runs through it against blue speckles. In a strong light a glittering of silver shines out at angles. This is my helping stone and I have turned it over and over many times until now the red of the heart is seen almost completely in my memory. 6
A picture of Jesus that Grandma gave me for comfort. His eyes are closed until I shine a light on his face and then Jesus opens his eyes and looks at me. Many a time I have laid awake among the covers with a flashlight and a book reading late into the night using Jesus's face as my bookmark, pausing between the moments to shine a light on my friend. 7
Fur from our dog King. I brushed and combed his coat until it shone, while he and I waited in the basement, for his new owners. Knowing we always belonged to each other. Some of his golden fur I taped to the last blue ribbon we won. King is a champion Collie, a show dog, we were first in show many times. But Dad said I was now too tall to be cute and King was too old to be anything but a stud dog. So he went. I polished his trophies and cared for his ribbons. I can still smell him in his fur when I take that last ribbon from my box and hold it carefully to my cheek.8
A poem my grandfather wrote when he was about my age. Grandpa gave it to me a week before he died. I treasure it and him. Grandpa is my hero, I promised myself never to lose him to the past. Before I go to bed at night I read his poem. The creased paper, delicate and old. Written by my Grandfather,s hand is a moment of touching him and myself, of holding on and letting go, of faith that he is with me still, within my soul.9
Also in the box is a ring, I won at a school carnival, blue glass in a brass band. It turns my finger green when I wear it, so I don't. 10
Anyway, the Principal in charge of the school,gave me the prize with her (look right through you) blue eyes. She had hands like ice to touch, needless to say I don't like her very much. I think I should take that ring out of my special box and bury it under the old railroad ties that lay rotting on the edge of our back land.11
I take down the old blue box from off the window ledge turning my back to the Sun. I sit cross legged on the floor, placing the box carefully in front of me. Once it had been a deep midnight blue, brilliantly bright, as beautiful as a moonlit sky shining with my dreams at night. I hold it now, still soft to my touch and memories, gently I pull it from the Sunlight towards me and open it again.12
Staring, stilled, alone, grasping at tissue with one hand and hearing my own self gasp in my breath. I am looking at an empty box. How long I am sitting this way, I do not know, I only remember the Sun's retreat. I tear out a page from my diary and carefully write TEARS FOR BLUEBEARD. 13
I lay the page to rest, inside the (my) emptied blue box. The scent of musky age is heavy on the yellowed satin lining, as I place the tissue, wet with my tears , over the carefully written page and close the lid. Now, standing up to the window for a solemn moment, looking straight into the Sun setting down, hiding in shame behind a neighbor's roof. I bend my head and kiss the soft velvet of my box, drop it into a waste basket, turn and walk out of the room, quietly I close the door behind me.14
Author notes
The beginning to a small Novel I am working on
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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Thank you for reading , it is something I will write more on someday. Your reading helps me remember too keep writing.
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Love these type of stories. Enjoyed the read, Keep writing, You have a talent.
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wow! I thank you, for some one of your talent writing praise for my work.
I find great joy and a personal release, a healing or maybe it is an awakening when I write this and the many other pages. But it has broken me down in the typing of it. I almost deleted the whole thing the other day. But I have to much of me in it . I write and read to improve myself and I thank you for your thoughts. My Grand father died when I was very young ,but he left many books and wrote poems and thoughts about all of the life he could. I packed all of them in a special large packing box and wrote in bright colors there importance. But they some how were discarded and never reached me again, except in my memories. Perhaps that is why I write, he was a remarkable man who thought about meaning things. The thing I found so interesting when I read what he wrote was that he was not afraid to think any thing he never limited himself to what waswhat he already knew, even when later he himself disagreed and with what he had just wrote. I guess he could find no one else to think all sides of a thought with, so he went ahead and did it alone. I have not any of those works to refer too but the concept always stuck with me. Tha thow can any of us to be so arrogant to not take time to look at a subject from an others veiw.
I am so proud you won the contest for the wedding, I think they will truely look at your poem over their lives together and see its truth and promises becoming fullfilled. -
took me back to my childhood days..You brought tears to my eyes writing about grandpa..I cherish my grandpa so much..and fully empathise with you..and your writing style is so devoid of any jargon and hits you right in the solar plexus.
A crushing blow of emotion and pathos...brilliant write up...a potential best seller--Shubs -
Thank you I am drained by the typing. There must be an easier way? I am now wondering if it is worth it? THe actual writing is good for me, freeing, even if it is a sad subject. But this re-typing is very painful on my back. I am learning nothing but frustration at the moment. Thank you for commenting, it helps me 'keep on a goin'.
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You are the second person that asked me that, I am wondering how to address it. In truth when your all boxed up and moving in a hurry . There are always things empited out, sold , left behind or lost. I did not feel a need to address this but I may have to if I continue. I am tired from simply rewriting it onto this site and I have not even finished putting on the first chapter. I think I am going to listen to what people think and see what to do after that. I think though a prologue can not be the place to answer all the questions, but to raise them. But this is my first time writing such along piece and I may not be up to it. I have over one hundred pages and I will continue it but this seems a really hard way to do it. I think you have to curl up in a comfortable place to read for a-spell to get the flow and meaning of a long book. Of course even then someone has to want to.
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OH goodness. I agree, this is a very good start, annie. the way its written, I now find myself asking, well..what now? which is a great tone for a prologue. wow..this peace speaks with such a strong sense of courage, except im sorry to say that I think I missed the part where the box became empty ..its funny how time just slips by wihtout permission. The way you brought blubeard back in the end was yet another peice of art.
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What a wonderfull start, you have a very natural flow that keep the reader interested well done pff to read the rest...
Paul -
heartfelt
This is a heartfelt write, Dear Annie! Full of emotions and my eagerness to know what will happen next...
Keep on writing..
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Thank you, I use spell check, so that may explain my spelling. I started to change the part you sugested and then I stopped. I can always see your comment can't I? I think I want to put more of this work on the page to see if I am changing my voice or making it clearer. I do what you said about reading it out loud and breathing spots. I have some REALLY long sentences later on. I am too close to the work for consideration. I suppose it maybe not readable but I guess I have deciced to make it tellable. I had a upbringing in a self made group of homesteaders on both sides. I
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Annie - hope this is of help. This paragraph may be changed a little without losing anything of it's meaning.
"A faded thread bared blue velvet box sits on the windows ledge, also revealed in this same assault. It holds my keepsakes. They would be silly things to any one else,trinkets to someone looking at them without the memories of meaning they hold for me. Just five things."
"A faded blue velvet box, also revealed in the same cruel assault, sits on the window ledge. It holds my keepsakes. They would be silly things to any one else. Just trinkets to anyone looking at them, unaware of the memories or meaning they hold for me. Just five things."
Now there REALLY isn't much editing to do, and our spelling must be similar, because I can't find any spelling mistakes.
My suggestions are just that, SUGGESTIONS and not very important. Too much editing will only take away the originality of the writing.
One tip someone gave me and I have always found it useful. After writing a piece of prose, or a poem, read it aloud to yourself. Where you have to pause for breath, or make a point of some kind, punctuate.
I think this is a good piece of writing and really did enjoy reading it. Carry on - 'cos I'm curious as to how the story will grow.
Edited on Aug 17, 10:11 because ''. -
Yes it is about growing up and the awareness that goes with it. Please I need help with editing and all comments are welcome I am not very good at spelling nor sentence structure. Although I am willing to go astray, to make it more fitting, making the chacters more real to their reallife. But I sure would like to know when I am doing it. I am afraid I am like my father as far as schooling is considered. He wrote at the bottom of a rare letter, a P.S. with,,..?;!!put them where you want them.
Edited on Aug 17, 9:29 because 'spelling'. -
Oh this is so very poignant and I loved it! Needs a little editing, but who cares!
There is a vague mystery to this story. Why were you moving? What had happened to the contents of the box?
Somehow, rightly or wrongly, I feel this is a story about 'growing up' - you know, 'When I became a man, I put away childish things', and the following chapters will follow the character through the ensuring years.
I'm curious and want to know more. Look forward to the next part.
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Thank you, I am pleased that you found it worth reading. I have been working on it this year and taking a break from it for poems. I will look forward to your comments and I am pleased that you read it so carefully . I am writng it set in the south and mid-west of America USA and it will be thought as outdated. But it a story I can tell and I do not see much change in the world, except the (Target) of the hate.
Edited on Aug 15, 12:21 because 'typos'. -
I thank you, I have written more. I do not know if it will ever be sold, but I will be pleased to give you one. I am not finished and it becomes very southern and mid-western American USA and many will say out dated. But I see an ever repeating pattern of hate fear and greed being always in our world. I write it from a child's view of wonder and confusion at why people are this way and does it have to be. The fear she feels of becomeing apart of it all and trying to find a way not to be. I would love your honest comments , to see the holes and mistakes I may make. It would be an interesting view for me to see what some one from another place and country will make of such a story.
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I have to agree with lencio - this was very suprised when I read your story this is my third time reading it...It's a very powerful and emotional write deserving a million aplauds - you really put a lot of heart and emotion into this work and it leaves one breathless when they read it drawing them in deeply..brilliantly written..
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Amazing Anne, and you surprised me with this as it is even beautiful than your poetry, the comments for which have only been understatements. This Novel will definitely be a treasure to cherish.
It is sad to part with something we love so much, pets, toys, people, whatever, and I can see that same feeling when as one whole night has passed by crying..." Staring, stilled, alone, grasping at tissue with one hand and hearing my own self gasp in my breath. I am looking at an empty box. How long I am sitting this way, I do not know, I only remember the Sun's retreat. I tear out a page from my diary and carefully write TEARS FOR BLUEBEARD" All the best to your writing the novel, looking forward to it (will I get a free copy?
lol!!!
Good luck, God bless,
Lencio
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