Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
I never thought of myself as the kind of person who had a mantra. But, I realized recently that each time I am stressed out and need to calm myself down, I do repeat something in my head. It comes unbidden and makes me feel better, somehow.
For some reason, what I repeat are the last two lines of Richard Siken's poem Scheherazade:
"These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it."
I don't really know why it works for me, but I guess when something resonates with you, it resonates with you, right?
In other news, I'm about 5,000 words away from finishing NaNoWriMo!
For some reason, what I repeat are the last two lines of Richard Siken's poem Scheherazade:
"These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it."
I don't really know why it works for me, but I guess when something resonates with you, it resonates with you, right?
In other news, I'm about 5,000 words away from finishing NaNoWriMo!
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
unwittingly offensive things people have said to me, family edition:
"Have you seen 'New Girl'? She reminds me of you!"
"Why do girls cut their hair short? All guys hate it!"
"Why do girls cut their hair short? All guys hate it!"
Thursday, November 24, 2011
splattered all the ingredients for thanksgiving dinner on my dress... long before thanksgiving dinner.
typical.
also, my brother said that i looked like a giant turkey due to my color choices.
Happy Thanksgiving from my parental abode!!!
Hi all! I'm currently at home, in bored anticipation of morning mass (yuck) and then all the usual Thanksgiving festivities that follow (yay!).
To go easy on the cheese, this year, I am extremely thankful for the following things:
friends & family, my love bug, employment, my little apartment, finding the time to write, puppies on the street whose owners let me pet them, books and songs, good health and generally high spirits, and the Internet.
Hope everyone has an excellent turkey day, filled with lots of potato-based dishes.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
excerpt excerpt :)
Naomi answered the door before I knocked or rang the bell, as though she had expected my arrival. “You’re here,” she said simply, pulling the door open and walking through the hallway before me.
I followed her. The house seemed quieter than usual, and I noticed that Aunt Cora’s large black car was not parked in the driveway. Naomi, for her part, seemed serene, as though a wave of calm had washed over her. The bag under her eyes had disappeared, and her body and face had lost that gaunt edge. She seemed well rested and content.
“You need to see something,” she said. We walked into her bedroom, which I had imagined to look dark and gloomy with a pile of bones in the corner.
It was nothing like that. She had opened her windows and a light breeze came through, rustling the gauzy edges of her curtains. Her bed was made up in bright, white cotton and the entire room was touched with warm light. I had not seen Naomi’s room like this in a long time; in fact, I could not imagine a time when any room in her house had seemed so untouched and innocuous.
“Well?” I asked.
She smiled faintly and led me to the walk-in closet, where she opened the door. Looking in, I saw that she had pulled down a trap door from the ceiling of the closet. A pull-down ladder led to a space above her bedroom, which I assumed to be her attic.
“I never knew you had an attic!” I said, astonished. “I can’t believe it.”
She gave me that faint, enigmatic smile again. “I suppose it was a surprise,” she said. “I was waiting for the right time.”
She stepped up onto the ladder first, and I watched her go up, her thin ankles and legs visible underneath the skirt of her cotton dress. She was dressed so simply today, in a light blue shirt dress with her wild hair pulled into a long braid down her back. I watched her disappear into the space above her closet before following behind her.
The ladder felt solid underneath my feet. As I rose, the air became mustier, and I felt a strange sense of foreboding envelop me. I pushed it away though, glancing down at the light streaming into Naomi’s room. There could be nothing malevolent in the house right now; it was silly of me to even feel that way. I hoisted myself up onto the worn, wooden floor of the attic, feeling the dust and grime beneath my hands.
Naomi sat right at the opening of the attic, with her knees pulled up to her chest. She smiled at me as I pulled myself up beside her and sat down, grimacing at the clouds of dust that billowed. Naomi, for some reason, looked untouched by the filth of the attic. Her clothing was pristine, and she seemed fresh faced, her eyes shining brightly.
“I want to introduce you to my mother, Elena,” she said, smiling brilliantly at me.
I followed her gaze and felt my chest tighten as I saw the figure sitting across from us.
Naomi had assembled her mother’s bones into a complete skeleton. From afar, I could not tell how she was held together, but I thought she must have used wire to connect the separated bones. She had done a meticulous job – the skeleton looked like one out of a biology textbook.
The most chilling aspect, though, was that Naomi had dressed the skeleton. She had found her mother’s yellowed wedding dress and had lovingly dressed the skeleton in the garment of yellowed lace. Instead of a veil, she had placed a wreath of red roses on the skull and had even adorned the neck and wrists with pieces of jewelry. I recognized the pieces of jewelry that Naomi had inherited from her mother and occasionally wore at fancy occasions. They looked gaudy and macabre on her mother’s bones.
Naomi looked at me, her eyes shining expectantly. “Well?” she prompted. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
I nodded, unable to trust myself with speaking. My mouth felt drier than it had upon waking up, and the dull headache had worked itself into a buzzing presence behind my eyes.
“I feel so at peace with her here,” Naomi said, not seeming to notice my hesitation. “It’s wonderful.”
I looked at the skeleton, which seemed to be leering at us. I did not feel the same way I had in Naomi’s room, where I had felt calm. In the attic, in an enclosed space with the skeleton of Naomi’s mother, I felt a dark, creeping presence. I suddenly had trouble breathing.
“She told me to,” Naomi said. She gestured around the attic, and I saw that she had cleaned the area surrounding the skeleton so that it was clean. What boxes had been in the attic were stacked neatly on one side, far away from where the skeleton sat. “When I put her bones together, I had this sense that she wanted me to bring her up here. So I did.”
“Does Aunt Cora know?” I asked, realizing as soon as the words left my lips how foolish they sounded. If Aunt Cora had any idea of what Naomi was doing, she would be furious.
Naomi shook her head. “No, I was careful to cover up the part of the yard that I dug up,” she said. “It’s a good thing there was never any grass there. I just had to refill the hole and pat down the earth.”
She relayed this information to me in a completely nonchalant manner, as though it was not at all unnatural for a teenage girl to dig up the graves of her parents and reassemble her mother’s skeleton in the attic space above her room.
I looked at the skeleton, then back at Naomi. I was at a loss for words. It was amazing to me how calm Naomi looked as she explained all of this to me; she remained sitting beside me with her knees drawn up to her chest, her expression radiant.
“Should we go back down to your room?” I finally said, uncertain of what else to say. “I’m having a hard time breathing up here.”
“Oh, okay,” she said. “I suppose there is a lot of dust.”
I nodded gratefully.
We crawled back down the ladder and as soon as I entered Naomi’s room, the constriction in my chest dissipated. I smiled at her, and she smiled back in a sweet, affectionate way. We sat on her bed and she reached over to place her hand over mine.
“Thanks for being such a good friend, Emmy,” she said.
I nodded wordlessly.
“Everything is going to be better now,” she said. Her voice was melodic and hopeful, and I found myself relaxing as we sat in that light-filled room, holding hands. “I can just feel it.”
I followed her. The house seemed quieter than usual, and I noticed that Aunt Cora’s large black car was not parked in the driveway. Naomi, for her part, seemed serene, as though a wave of calm had washed over her. The bag under her eyes had disappeared, and her body and face had lost that gaunt edge. She seemed well rested and content.
“You need to see something,” she said. We walked into her bedroom, which I had imagined to look dark and gloomy with a pile of bones in the corner.
It was nothing like that. She had opened her windows and a light breeze came through, rustling the gauzy edges of her curtains. Her bed was made up in bright, white cotton and the entire room was touched with warm light. I had not seen Naomi’s room like this in a long time; in fact, I could not imagine a time when any room in her house had seemed so untouched and innocuous.
“Well?” I asked.
She smiled faintly and led me to the walk-in closet, where she opened the door. Looking in, I saw that she had pulled down a trap door from the ceiling of the closet. A pull-down ladder led to a space above her bedroom, which I assumed to be her attic.
“I never knew you had an attic!” I said, astonished. “I can’t believe it.”
She gave me that faint, enigmatic smile again. “I suppose it was a surprise,” she said. “I was waiting for the right time.”
She stepped up onto the ladder first, and I watched her go up, her thin ankles and legs visible underneath the skirt of her cotton dress. She was dressed so simply today, in a light blue shirt dress with her wild hair pulled into a long braid down her back. I watched her disappear into the space above her closet before following behind her.
The ladder felt solid underneath my feet. As I rose, the air became mustier, and I felt a strange sense of foreboding envelop me. I pushed it away though, glancing down at the light streaming into Naomi’s room. There could be nothing malevolent in the house right now; it was silly of me to even feel that way. I hoisted myself up onto the worn, wooden floor of the attic, feeling the dust and grime beneath my hands.
Naomi sat right at the opening of the attic, with her knees pulled up to her chest. She smiled at me as I pulled myself up beside her and sat down, grimacing at the clouds of dust that billowed. Naomi, for some reason, looked untouched by the filth of the attic. Her clothing was pristine, and she seemed fresh faced, her eyes shining brightly.
“I want to introduce you to my mother, Elena,” she said, smiling brilliantly at me.
I followed her gaze and felt my chest tighten as I saw the figure sitting across from us.
Naomi had assembled her mother’s bones into a complete skeleton. From afar, I could not tell how she was held together, but I thought she must have used wire to connect the separated bones. She had done a meticulous job – the skeleton looked like one out of a biology textbook.
The most chilling aspect, though, was that Naomi had dressed the skeleton. She had found her mother’s yellowed wedding dress and had lovingly dressed the skeleton in the garment of yellowed lace. Instead of a veil, she had placed a wreath of red roses on the skull and had even adorned the neck and wrists with pieces of jewelry. I recognized the pieces of jewelry that Naomi had inherited from her mother and occasionally wore at fancy occasions. They looked gaudy and macabre on her mother’s bones.
Naomi looked at me, her eyes shining expectantly. “Well?” she prompted. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
I nodded, unable to trust myself with speaking. My mouth felt drier than it had upon waking up, and the dull headache had worked itself into a buzzing presence behind my eyes.
“I feel so at peace with her here,” Naomi said, not seeming to notice my hesitation. “It’s wonderful.”
I looked at the skeleton, which seemed to be leering at us. I did not feel the same way I had in Naomi’s room, where I had felt calm. In the attic, in an enclosed space with the skeleton of Naomi’s mother, I felt a dark, creeping presence. I suddenly had trouble breathing.
“She told me to,” Naomi said. She gestured around the attic, and I saw that she had cleaned the area surrounding the skeleton so that it was clean. What boxes had been in the attic were stacked neatly on one side, far away from where the skeleton sat. “When I put her bones together, I had this sense that she wanted me to bring her up here. So I did.”
“Does Aunt Cora know?” I asked, realizing as soon as the words left my lips how foolish they sounded. If Aunt Cora had any idea of what Naomi was doing, she would be furious.
Naomi shook her head. “No, I was careful to cover up the part of the yard that I dug up,” she said. “It’s a good thing there was never any grass there. I just had to refill the hole and pat down the earth.”
She relayed this information to me in a completely nonchalant manner, as though it was not at all unnatural for a teenage girl to dig up the graves of her parents and reassemble her mother’s skeleton in the attic space above her room.
I looked at the skeleton, then back at Naomi. I was at a loss for words. It was amazing to me how calm Naomi looked as she explained all of this to me; she remained sitting beside me with her knees drawn up to her chest, her expression radiant.
“Should we go back down to your room?” I finally said, uncertain of what else to say. “I’m having a hard time breathing up here.”
“Oh, okay,” she said. “I suppose there is a lot of dust.”
I nodded gratefully.
We crawled back down the ladder and as soon as I entered Naomi’s room, the constriction in my chest dissipated. I smiled at her, and she smiled back in a sweet, affectionate way. We sat on her bed and she reached over to place her hand over mine.
“Thanks for being such a good friend, Emmy,” she said.
I nodded wordlessly.
“Everything is going to be better now,” she said. Her voice was melodic and hopeful, and I found myself relaxing as we sat in that light-filled room, holding hands. “I can just feel it.”
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
I have to learn WordPress so I'm creating another blog that's more "work appropriate" and can be posted on my professional digital properties, lol.
It's going to be insanely boring, but in case anyone is interested, I will probably be posting very periodically to teresawritespoems.wordpress.com. The format will also change pretty regularly, as I will be using it to try to teach myself WordPress or something.
Some fascinating potential topics for the future:
It's going to be insanely boring, but in case anyone is interested, I will probably be posting very periodically to teresawritespoems.wordpress.com. The format will also change pretty regularly, as I will be using it to try to teach myself WordPress or something.
Some fascinating potential topics for the future:
- Why PR is awesome!
- Teresa reviews books!
- Teresa makes cookies!
Monday, November 21, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
So in really random news, I guess I've won an online raffle to attend this year's "Night of Writing Dangerously" for NaNoWriMo???
Unfortunately, it's only one ticket so I'd have to attend awkward and alone, but nonetheless, it's sort of exciting since I've never really won anything in my life! (not that I can remember, at least)
Since tickets were originally only obtained via $250 or more donations, I'm feeling pretty lucky :)
Thursday, November 17, 2011
I am totally an emotional shopper. This is a terrible habit, but it's true. I get online with my credit card and buy things when I'm having a shitty day or when something perturbs me. With the recent rash of bad things happening (aka kidnappings in my work garage, my car being hit, Direct Loan not processing my student loans, eye eczema that just won't go away), the amount of packages that has piled outside the door of my apartment is appalling.
Ohhhh well.
I will post some of my exciting buys that I fully justified in my mind when I receive them!
SPOILER: I'm getting a baby pink taser for when I walk to my car at night, just in case I'm the person in my parking garage who unluckily encounters the armed kidnapper hiding between the cars.
FUN.
Ohhhh well.
I will post some of my exciting buys that I fully justified in my mind when I receive them!
SPOILER: I'm getting a baby pink taser for when I walk to my car at night, just in case I'm the person in my parking garage who unluckily encounters the armed kidnapper hiding between the cars.
FUN.
proof that my novel is not all doom & gloom:
In my adult life, I tried not to dwell on Naomi often. I considered the summer that I met Cole a part of my adult life - it was the beginning for me, at least. When she left, after the initial rush of relief, I mourned her absence as one would a sister. I sat in my room and looked out the window, wondering if I would see her wisp of a figure emerge on my front lawn, looking up at me with those eyes like stones.
By the time Cole came around, I had quelled the small part of me that wanted to see Naomi again, that wanted to touch her hand through a glass window and see her breath mist it over.
I had stopped pining for Ethan a long time ago.
Somehow I knew that when it ended, we would never be able to recreate the same relationship that we had those first months that we were falling in young love. I had begun to see him as a different person, and he had begun to see me, as something outside of the normal, sweet girl that I am sure he fell in love with.
Those days when I would run into him after the dissipation of our relationship stung me. I would stop breathing as I passed him on the street, each of us wearing our lukewarm, conflicted smiles. My chest would hurt as our eyes met, and in the beginning, I had the urge to run towards him and throw my arms around him, to breathe in his familiar warm scent.
At times, I would be plagued night with disorienting dreams that made my chest hurt.
Ethan’s arms wrapping around me, then slipping through me as though they were made of mist. Naomi’s face on my ceiling, her wide grin turning into a fanged snarl. Bones scattered around my room, on the floor, everywhere.
I would wake up gasping, and my hand would go automatically to my neck, where I had once worn the heart locket that Ethan bought me. I would feel nothing but my own protruding collar bone, like the ridge of a mountain.
I missed him in those moments like I missed my childhood sense of wonderment - with a sweet ache that made it difficult to breathe.
But that faded. And by the time I met Cole, I was eighteen and had regained the weight that dropped at an alarming rate after I lost both Naomi and Ethan. I no longer had a hollow, starved look to me, though my mother often remarked that my eyes had become serious.
When I met Cole, my first impression of him was that he had strong eyebrows. They were the sort of eyebrows you could feel safe next to, the sort of eyebrows that only existed on a kind of person who displayed a quiet chivalry. My concept of him was not too far from the truth.
I remembered the first night that I felt something akin to what I had felt with Ethan immediately, a few months after Cole and I began seeing each other. We did so tentatively, both afraid to swim into deep waters - him because of the age difference, me because I had become cautious with people, afraid to feel the closeness of their bodies next to mine.
We had decided, on a whim, to go out of town for once, to see a traveling circus that had arrived in the next town over.
“I love elephants,” I had told a few days before. I had not been entirely serious, but he seemed to find it charming. “I think they’re very wise. And I like how leathery they are, so though nothing can get through their skin.”
“Let’s go out of town, then,” he said, smiling a rare boyish smile. “I’ll take you to the circus for the day.”
It turned out to be the best decision for our budding relationship.
As soon as we drove out of town, I felt lighter, more relaxed and less vigilant. Cole, on his part, seemed less concerned about his reputation as well, slinging an arm around my shoulder and kissing me on the cheek with surprisingly public affection.
When we reached the fairground where the circus was being held, he grinned at me and I looped my arm through his, and for the first time in a long time, I felt that untarnished giddiness that came from being with someone whose company I enjoyed.
When he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” I believed him and my heart swelled a little. Not in the way that it had for Ethan -- no, that first love was something that could never be replicated. But I was moved in a way that required more thought, more care. I felt as though I could trust Cole with everything.
I have always found circuses to be grimy affairs, smaller than advertised in the same way that mail-order catalogue dollhouses and children’s mad scientist sets were. That day though, everything felt brighter and bigger than life. I walked towards the cherry red tent arm in arm with Cole, the sun in my eyes like a fractured star.
It seemed to me a day without darkness, a day without shadows or the nagging urge to look over my shoulder. I felt happy, free, and most of all, I felt protected. I looked up at Cole and smiled, though I could barely make out his face through the sunlight.
“You look happy,” he said. He sounded surprised.
“I am,” I said. “I really am.”
As we walked into the tent, he stopped a vendor and bought a bag of peanuts, handing them to me with a soft smile.
“So you can make friends with the elephants,” he said, wrapping his fingers around mine. His eyes shone with a tenderness that I recognized as love, and I felt myself falling prey to it.
I could swear, in that moment, that I was going to marry this man.
By the time Cole came around, I had quelled the small part of me that wanted to see Naomi again, that wanted to touch her hand through a glass window and see her breath mist it over.
I had stopped pining for Ethan a long time ago.
Somehow I knew that when it ended, we would never be able to recreate the same relationship that we had those first months that we were falling in young love. I had begun to see him as a different person, and he had begun to see me, as something outside of the normal, sweet girl that I am sure he fell in love with.
Those days when I would run into him after the dissipation of our relationship stung me. I would stop breathing as I passed him on the street, each of us wearing our lukewarm, conflicted smiles. My chest would hurt as our eyes met, and in the beginning, I had the urge to run towards him and throw my arms around him, to breathe in his familiar warm scent.
At times, I would be plagued night with disorienting dreams that made my chest hurt.
Ethan’s arms wrapping around me, then slipping through me as though they were made of mist. Naomi’s face on my ceiling, her wide grin turning into a fanged snarl. Bones scattered around my room, on the floor, everywhere.
I would wake up gasping, and my hand would go automatically to my neck, where I had once worn the heart locket that Ethan bought me. I would feel nothing but my own protruding collar bone, like the ridge of a mountain.
I missed him in those moments like I missed my childhood sense of wonderment - with a sweet ache that made it difficult to breathe.
But that faded. And by the time I met Cole, I was eighteen and had regained the weight that dropped at an alarming rate after I lost both Naomi and Ethan. I no longer had a hollow, starved look to me, though my mother often remarked that my eyes had become serious.
When I met Cole, my first impression of him was that he had strong eyebrows. They were the sort of eyebrows you could feel safe next to, the sort of eyebrows that only existed on a kind of person who displayed a quiet chivalry. My concept of him was not too far from the truth.
I remembered the first night that I felt something akin to what I had felt with Ethan immediately, a few months after Cole and I began seeing each other. We did so tentatively, both afraid to swim into deep waters - him because of the age difference, me because I had become cautious with people, afraid to feel the closeness of their bodies next to mine.
We had decided, on a whim, to go out of town for once, to see a traveling circus that had arrived in the next town over.
“I love elephants,” I had told a few days before. I had not been entirely serious, but he seemed to find it charming. “I think they’re very wise. And I like how leathery they are, so though nothing can get through their skin.”
“Let’s go out of town, then,” he said, smiling a rare boyish smile. “I’ll take you to the circus for the day.”
It turned out to be the best decision for our budding relationship.
As soon as we drove out of town, I felt lighter, more relaxed and less vigilant. Cole, on his part, seemed less concerned about his reputation as well, slinging an arm around my shoulder and kissing me on the cheek with surprisingly public affection.
When we reached the fairground where the circus was being held, he grinned at me and I looped my arm through his, and for the first time in a long time, I felt that untarnished giddiness that came from being with someone whose company I enjoyed.
When he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” I believed him and my heart swelled a little. Not in the way that it had for Ethan -- no, that first love was something that could never be replicated. But I was moved in a way that required more thought, more care. I felt as though I could trust Cole with everything.
I have always found circuses to be grimy affairs, smaller than advertised in the same way that mail-order catalogue dollhouses and children’s mad scientist sets were. That day though, everything felt brighter and bigger than life. I walked towards the cherry red tent arm in arm with Cole, the sun in my eyes like a fractured star.
It seemed to me a day without darkness, a day without shadows or the nagging urge to look over my shoulder. I felt happy, free, and most of all, I felt protected. I looked up at Cole and smiled, though I could barely make out his face through the sunlight.
“You look happy,” he said. He sounded surprised.
“I am,” I said. “I really am.”
As we walked into the tent, he stopped a vendor and bought a bag of peanuts, handing them to me with a soft smile.
“So you can make friends with the elephants,” he said, wrapping his fingers around mine. His eyes shone with a tenderness that I recognized as love, and I felt myself falling prey to it.
I could swear, in that moment, that I was going to marry this man.
It's strange how foreign it feels to be back at my parent's house while this whole car situation gets figured out, since I can't be stranded sans transportation in Menlo Park.
I miss my tiny apartment badly. Miss those Christmas lights and my little fish :(
Online gif maker
I miss my tiny apartment badly. Miss those Christmas lights and my little fish :(
holiday-themed clothing:
and half my christmas shopping is done done done! i love jumping the gun on this season :)
now if only i had transportation...
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
I love the New York Times' style pieces because they are so often completely out of touch with the rest of the country as far as identifying "trends" goes. There's this wonderfully sheltered and privileged air about it that makes me giggle. For example, I've certainly read articles about the growing trend of teenage girls who buy designer gowns priced in the tens of thousands for their proms.
Today's article almost made me laugh out loud, though. It's about the return of the "Nazi Youth" haircut and how chic it is for young men that appreciate a return to tailoring, cut and craftsmanship.
I am serious.
Today's article almost made me laugh out loud, though. It's about the return of the "Nazi Youth" haircut and how chic it is for young men that appreciate a return to tailoring, cut and craftsmanship.
I am serious.
currently writing to: The Exorcist film score station on Pandora
It's surprisingly the best thing EVER.
Monday, November 14, 2011
27K update: another excerpt
There was one memory of Naomi that I had forgotten. It came back as I sat in the car and told Cole about everything that had transpired between us, trying not to sound as unhinged as I felt.
When we were eight or nine, Naomi invited me over for a birthday sleepover. She had sent home sparkly, unicorn-bedazzled invitations to all of our female classmates and instructed us to bring over our sleeping bags and toiletries. I had never been to a sleepover before and had excitedly gone shopping with my mother for a hot pink, children’s sleeping bag as well as a new toothbrush. When I arrived, nearly a dozen girls were assembled in the sparsely furnished kitchen, looking around nervously.
Even then, we could tell that Naomi’s house was nothing like any of ours. I had become as accustomed to it as I could be from all of the play dates spent there, but all the other girls looked uneasy as they sat at the large wooden table. The room was lit only by the flames of the candles on Naomi’s birthday cake, which was frosted all white and sat in the middle of the table like a sacred offering.
Naomi stood by the doorway, solemn and still as a wood carving. She wore an antiquated velvet dress that Aunt Cora must have insisted she wear. It had a large, navy blue bow at the waist and she had braided her hair down her back with a single velvet ribbon tied around the end. “Welcome,” she said, her voice quavering. This must have been what she believed that hosting a party entailed, a strict formality and straight spine.
I remembered how odd the whole affair had been; even though Naomi was a popular girl, she seemed completely unable to host a normal little girl’s birthday party in that large, dank house. When we sang “Happy Birthday,” we kept our voices subdued, so as to not hear them echo through the empty rooms of the house. We ate our cake in silence, the only sound the clinking of our silverware against the delicate china plates. Aunt Cora presided over the whole affair in a funereal dress with a high neckline, her white-streaked hair pulled up in a high bun.
Naomi, for her part, was quieter than usual, lacking in the shrieking laughter and smart remarks that made up our usual schoolyard interactions with her. She led us through a half-hearted game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and then showed us where we were to lay out our sleeping bags, on the hardwood floor of the living room, amongst oddly shaped pieces of furniture covered by white sheets.
After we had unrolled them, we stood up and surveyed the two rows of sleeping bags on the floor. It must have looked like a refugee camp, but at that age, I only knew that it looked sad. Aunt Cora stood at the entrance to the living room and surveyed our sleeping arrangements, giving a stern nod to deem them acceptable.
“I am going to sleep now,” she said. “And you girls should too.”
Though delivered as a suggestion, we all knew that it was a command and shuffled towards the bathroom to brush our teeth and wash our faces in turn. Naomi was the first to finish washing up in the bathroom, and the first to zip herself into her sleeping bag. Unlike the rest of us, who had children’s sleeping bags in various shades of purples, pinks and yellows that had been purchased from the local department store, Naomi had a heavy-duty adult black sleeping bag that bore an unsettling resemblance to a body bag.
We all settled down to sleep, though none of us were tired. We had expected late night movies, bowls of candy and popcorn, and perhaps the rare special occasion where we were allowed to paint our own nails. The solemnity of the whole affair had confused us, and the sweetness of the cake lingered in my mouth and throat like the aftertaste of a spoonful of medicinal syrup.
I zipped myself into my sleeping bag and fell asleep without talking to any of the other girls, and they did the same.
It must have been an hour or two later when Naomi woke us up, walking over to each of us in her silent bare feet and whispering in our ears.
“Wake up,” she said, before moving onto the next girl.
We sat up, rubbing our eyes and readjusting the sleeves and waistbands of our flannel pajama sets. I remembered sitting there in the darkness, a dozen sets of girls’ eyes glimmering back at me.
She had finished waking us all up and stood at the entrance of the living room, assuming the same stance that Aunt Cora had earlier in the evening. She brought a finger up to her lips to warn us to remain quiet, and then slid out of the room and down the hallway, glancing back just once.
We glanced at each other after she had left the room. Then, without a word, we all rose and filed out of the room in a line, following Naomi’s path down the moonlit hallway. She was headed towards the back of the house. She paused at the back door, looking solemn and thoughtful bathed in moonlight. I remember that she was not wearing pajamas, like the rest of us, but must have changed back into her velvet party dress while we were sleeping.
Then, as if making a decision in her mind, she pushed through the door and stepped outside in her bare feet.
Aunt Cora’s yard was sparse, just as the inside of the house had been. She was not the kind of woman to spend her time frivolously planting sweet-smelling herbs and rose bushes. Instead, there were ragged patches of grass and several trees that bore no leaves. Instead, they twisted their arms to the sky in contorted poses, like people crying out in pain.
And then there was the dirt.
There was so much overturned dirt. The air smelled like fresh soil, and when we stepped out into the backyard, the ground beneath us was soft. One of the girls in our class, a known cry-baby, began to whimper. Some of the other girls huddled around her, cooing at her maternally.
“It’s okay,” I heard one of the girls say as she wrapped an arm around her friend, glancing about nervously. “I’m sure that Naomi is just having us play a game.”
But from Naomi’s expression - the intent concentration of a cat before it pounces on its prey - I knew that this was no game. She hopped from foot to foot, as though avoiding certain spots on the ground. We followed her in a bedraggled line until she stopped at the foot of the most twisted tree in the yard. She looked, in that moment, as though she had crawled up between the roots of the tree and appeared in front of us, a creature from another world.
The earth surrounding this tree looked especially disturbed, as though someone had recently gone through with a rake a shovel, creating a haphazard mess of small mounds and streaks in the dirt. She stood there, silent, as we gathered around her, murmuring in confusion.
Eventually, our voices died out and we too stood without speaking, facing Naomi as though she was presiding over some kind of ritual.
“I wanted to show you something,” she said, her voice sweet and clear. She suddenly sounded like a little girl from a movie, the kind that aired in fuzzy black and white and helped her mother with baking biscuits in the kitchen. She smiled, that made for TV smile dazzling and disarming us all.
She pointed to the ground where we stood, all of us in bare feet, our toes like pale worms emerging from the soil.
“This is where she buried my parents,” she said. I remember the feeling of cold dread that crept up through me; I imagined the skeletal remains that lay beneath me, the eyes of a laughing skull eternally open, watching us as we shifted from foot to foot.
The girl who had been afraid earlier was now crying in earnest. “I don’t want to be here,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I want to go home, now.”
Though we were all shocked, we told the girl to hush up and stared back at Naomi, whose dark eyes glinted.
“She buried their bodies here, when I was a baby,” she continued. Her voice was flat and devoid of all intonation. She stood stock still, like a doll reciting a story. “I remember it - the wooden boxes, the sound the shovel made when it hit the rocks. No one believes me because I was just a baby. But I remember it.”
I was aware that I was holding my breath, that all of us were. The only sound was Naomi’s calm voice as she spoke.
“And I remember her. She was smiling as the men put their bodies into the boxes before. I’ve never seen her smile before. Maybe that’s why I remember it.
I wanted you to see this. I wanted you to know, because you are all my friends.”
Then, without warning, she reached out and took my clammy hand in hers. She was cool to the touch, though her eyes seemed bright and feverish. “Thank you,” she said, addressing all of us, though in that moment it seemed as though she was saying it to just me.
I looked at her eyes, which were wide and glassy. Then, without warning, something clicked in them. I saw it happen in her gaze - she seemed, suddenly, transformed. Her eyes narrowed back to their normal size, and she gave out what sounded to me like a too-loud, nervous laugh.
“I scared you, didn’t I?” she said. Her tone was taunting, but I saw the uncertainty in her eyes and felt her hand, still intertwined with mine. She gave the crying girl a derisive look and said, “Oh stop crying, I was just messing with you.”
Then, without waiting for us to respond, she marched back across the overturned dirt and into the house, her feet leaving small, ashy footprints across the wooden floor. We followed, not meeting each other’s eyes.
Naomi walked into the kitchen, where she opened the fridge and pulled her leftover birthday cake out and set it onto the counter. With a butter knife, she began cutting generous slices, licking the frosting from her fingers as she did so.
“Here,” she said, handing us plates. They were even fancier than the ones we had eaten off of during dinner; they looked like my parents’ wedding china, with delicate roses and thorny branches etched along the sides.
The pieces of cake were fat and grotesquely shaped. She stood there with unwavering eyes, watching as we ate them, bite by bite until our plates were clean. The frosting lingered on my lips and in my mouth, and I felt a little sick.
“Now girls,” she said, eyes bright. “Isn’t this fun?”
Sunday, November 13, 2011
I would say that today's been a lazy Sunday, but it's actually been a day of great productivity, including 4,000 words written (yowza, I feel like never writing again, but I MUST persevere), running errands, cleaning my lil apartment top to bottom, cleaning out Hercules' fish bowl, etc.
Now I am going to make soup, read a book illustrated by Chris Van Allsburg (aka my childhood hero), go to the gym and pick up my sweetheart from the train station!
excerpt excerpt excerpt
I woke up to the same nightmare that night, after Ethan had dropped me off and I tiptoed upstairs so as not to wake my parents. I felt exhilarated and a little bit scared - the possibilities of what was to come in my life seemed wide open that night, as wide as the frozen sky that hung above us in a brilliant, iced-over navy.
“I love you,” Ethan had mumbled into my hair gratefully as I extricated myself from the mess of tangled limbs. “I love you so much, Emmy.”
I fell asleep alone in my bed, feeling uncharacteristically warm for such a winter’s night. With the sheets tangled between my legs, I closed my eyes and thought of Ethan, of his soft hands and the way his breath smelled like warm bread. I thought of him kissing me on my sweaty forehead, of how strange his voice sounded when he told me that he loved me. Lulled into a state of satisfaction by these thoughts, I fell asleep.
I woke up in a bath of cold terror.
I was paralyzed with dread, my eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. It had been the same dream - Naomi on the windowsill, her eyes as dark as coals. This time, though, waking brought no relief. I tried to slow my breathing, as I had learned to do, counting backwards with each exhale. Three, two, one, breathe. I did this, again and again, but still the rising panic clutched at my chest. And still, I was afraid to turn to face the side of my bed, where in my dreams a dark shape had loomed.
I heard the wind rustle my curtains, saw them move in my peripheral vision. My mind raced - hadn’t I closed them before bed? In fact, hadn’t they been closed this whole time, since before I even left on my date with Ethan? I remembered my father yelling upstairs that he was going to turn on the central heating system, and that all doors and windows must be secured. I could still hear the hum of the heater blowing warm air into our bedrooms. I would not have opened the window with it on.
Then, as slyly as a piece of paper sliding across a schoolgirl’s desk, her face came into view, hovering directly above mine.
“Naomi,” I gasped, my voice hoarse.
I noticed that her eyes were dilated, but not the frighteningly matte black that they always appeared as in my dreams. When I spoke to her, though, she blinked.
“Naomi,” I said again, trying to keep my throat from constricting. “Naomi, what in the world?”
She looked at me with a questioning expression, as though she was puzzled to find herself in my house. With a flustered shaking of her head, she backed away from my bed, until she stood directly in front of my window, eclipsing the stream of moonlight.
“Emmy?” she asked. She sounded terrified; her voice hitched. “Emmy, what am I doing here? Am I dreaming?”
I pulled myself up, wincing at my soreness. The sheets tangled around me felt sweaty, and my hair remained plastered to my forehead as I tried to remain calm. “It’s okay,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing manner. I scooted over and patted the space next to me in bed. “Come here. I think you were sleepwalking.”
Naomi remained frozen by the window, her thin arms crossed over her chest. She shook with the cold. I noticed that she wore the same nightgown and sneakers from earlier that night, though at some point she had pulled on an oversize beige cardigan that looked as though it belonged to Aunt Cora. The ensemble gave her the experience of a lost child, and I found myself standing up and crossing the room to comfort her.
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she shivered, leaning into me. Shutting the window and securing the lock, I wondered how Naomi had made it inside. Had she climbed up the side of my house in a fit of sleepwalking? Had she gone through the front door and entered my room to open the window before I woke up? Neither explanation seemed satisfactory, but I pushed the thought from my mind for now.
“I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” Naomi said once I had guided her towards my bed. She lay on her back, refusing my attempts to cover her with a blanket despite the fact that she continued to shiver.
I sat beside her, stroking her hair as she continued.
“I keep waking up in places that I’m unaware I went to. In the kitchen. In my closet. The other day, I found myself in Aunt Cora’s room, going through the locked safe that she keeps in the back of her room. I never even knew the combination. How did I open it?”
I shook my head weakly. “I don’t know, Naomi... maybe you’ve seen her open it before and just forgot about it.”
“No, she never opens it in front of me,” she said. Her eyes were serious. “She woke me up when she found me in front of the safe and started yelling at me. She called me a thief, said that I was no better than my mother. What does that mean?”
I had no answers for her, but she didn’t seem to expect me to say anything. I continued to run my hand through her dark, tangled hair. It seemed to calm her, and eventually her eyes fluttered closed.
“And tonight,” she said, her voice soft. “I remember waking up in front of my house with you and your boyfriend - I’m sorry, I forgot his name.”
“It’s Ethan.”
“Yeah, with you and Ethan. And you were both so nice about it, but then after I entered the house, my body went really cold and I felt as though I was passing through a dark tunnel,” she said. “And the next thing I knew, I was here.”
“Naomi,” I said, trying not to sound frightened for her sake. “We dropped you off at your house at least six hours ago.”
She did not say anything and I slid down into bed with her, tentatively resting my arm on her waist. She shifted closer, so that we were side by side, my chin touching her shoulder. I could feel the rise and fall of her breathing. Unconsciously, I found myself breathing in synchrony with her, marvelling at the way our bodies aligned.
“You don’t mind if I stay here tonight, do you?” she asked. Her voice was small, that of a child’s.
I nodded. “It’s okay,” I said. “You can stay here whenever you want to.”
I meant it at the time. As I lay there with Naomi, breathing in her sweet-smelling hair with my arm touching her her prominent ribcage and those arms that felt like the stripped wings of a bird, I thought of all that we had been through. Naomi, sitting beside me in class during elementary school, whispering into my ear. Naomi, eating at my dining room table, asking my father about his writing. Naomi, linking arms with me in the hallway at St. Mary’s, telling me that we would be best friends forever, and that I would look that much prettier if I pulled up my skirt another inch. Naomi, frail and otherworldly, supine in my bed.
“You mean it?” Naomi asked in that little girl’s voice. She had opened her eyes again, and turned her head to look at me. When she spoke, her lips were mere inches away from mine and I could feel her cool breath. “You’re inviting me in?”
Her lips curved into a smile that turned in my my stomach like a knife. It was the smile that signified that something was off, that her question signified more than she was telling me.
But she was my best friend, and so I shrugged it off. “Of course,” I said.
“Perfect,” she murmured in a voice like velvet, and closed her eyes again.
“I love you,” Ethan had mumbled into my hair gratefully as I extricated myself from the mess of tangled limbs. “I love you so much, Emmy.”
I fell asleep alone in my bed, feeling uncharacteristically warm for such a winter’s night. With the sheets tangled between my legs, I closed my eyes and thought of Ethan, of his soft hands and the way his breath smelled like warm bread. I thought of him kissing me on my sweaty forehead, of how strange his voice sounded when he told me that he loved me. Lulled into a state of satisfaction by these thoughts, I fell asleep.
I woke up in a bath of cold terror.
I was paralyzed with dread, my eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. It had been the same dream - Naomi on the windowsill, her eyes as dark as coals. This time, though, waking brought no relief. I tried to slow my breathing, as I had learned to do, counting backwards with each exhale. Three, two, one, breathe. I did this, again and again, but still the rising panic clutched at my chest. And still, I was afraid to turn to face the side of my bed, where in my dreams a dark shape had loomed.
I heard the wind rustle my curtains, saw them move in my peripheral vision. My mind raced - hadn’t I closed them before bed? In fact, hadn’t they been closed this whole time, since before I even left on my date with Ethan? I remembered my father yelling upstairs that he was going to turn on the central heating system, and that all doors and windows must be secured. I could still hear the hum of the heater blowing warm air into our bedrooms. I would not have opened the window with it on.
Then, as slyly as a piece of paper sliding across a schoolgirl’s desk, her face came into view, hovering directly above mine.
“Naomi,” I gasped, my voice hoarse.
I noticed that her eyes were dilated, but not the frighteningly matte black that they always appeared as in my dreams. When I spoke to her, though, she blinked.
“Naomi,” I said again, trying to keep my throat from constricting. “Naomi, what in the world?”
She looked at me with a questioning expression, as though she was puzzled to find herself in my house. With a flustered shaking of her head, she backed away from my bed, until she stood directly in front of my window, eclipsing the stream of moonlight.
“Emmy?” she asked. She sounded terrified; her voice hitched. “Emmy, what am I doing here? Am I dreaming?”
I pulled myself up, wincing at my soreness. The sheets tangled around me felt sweaty, and my hair remained plastered to my forehead as I tried to remain calm. “It’s okay,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing manner. I scooted over and patted the space next to me in bed. “Come here. I think you were sleepwalking.”
Naomi remained frozen by the window, her thin arms crossed over her chest. She shook with the cold. I noticed that she wore the same nightgown and sneakers from earlier that night, though at some point she had pulled on an oversize beige cardigan that looked as though it belonged to Aunt Cora. The ensemble gave her the experience of a lost child, and I found myself standing up and crossing the room to comfort her.
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she shivered, leaning into me. Shutting the window and securing the lock, I wondered how Naomi had made it inside. Had she climbed up the side of my house in a fit of sleepwalking? Had she gone through the front door and entered my room to open the window before I woke up? Neither explanation seemed satisfactory, but I pushed the thought from my mind for now.
“I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” Naomi said once I had guided her towards my bed. She lay on her back, refusing my attempts to cover her with a blanket despite the fact that she continued to shiver.
I sat beside her, stroking her hair as she continued.
“I keep waking up in places that I’m unaware I went to. In the kitchen. In my closet. The other day, I found myself in Aunt Cora’s room, going through the locked safe that she keeps in the back of her room. I never even knew the combination. How did I open it?”
I shook my head weakly. “I don’t know, Naomi... maybe you’ve seen her open it before and just forgot about it.”
“No, she never opens it in front of me,” she said. Her eyes were serious. “She woke me up when she found me in front of the safe and started yelling at me. She called me a thief, said that I was no better than my mother. What does that mean?”
I had no answers for her, but she didn’t seem to expect me to say anything. I continued to run my hand through her dark, tangled hair. It seemed to calm her, and eventually her eyes fluttered closed.
“And tonight,” she said, her voice soft. “I remember waking up in front of my house with you and your boyfriend - I’m sorry, I forgot his name.”
“It’s Ethan.”
“Yeah, with you and Ethan. And you were both so nice about it, but then after I entered the house, my body went really cold and I felt as though I was passing through a dark tunnel,” she said. “And the next thing I knew, I was here.”
“Naomi,” I said, trying not to sound frightened for her sake. “We dropped you off at your house at least six hours ago.”
She did not say anything and I slid down into bed with her, tentatively resting my arm on her waist. She shifted closer, so that we were side by side, my chin touching her shoulder. I could feel the rise and fall of her breathing. Unconsciously, I found myself breathing in synchrony with her, marvelling at the way our bodies aligned.
“You don’t mind if I stay here tonight, do you?” she asked. Her voice was small, that of a child’s.
I nodded. “It’s okay,” I said. “You can stay here whenever you want to.”
I meant it at the time. As I lay there with Naomi, breathing in her sweet-smelling hair with my arm touching her her prominent ribcage and those arms that felt like the stripped wings of a bird, I thought of all that we had been through. Naomi, sitting beside me in class during elementary school, whispering into my ear. Naomi, eating at my dining room table, asking my father about his writing. Naomi, linking arms with me in the hallway at St. Mary’s, telling me that we would be best friends forever, and that I would look that much prettier if I pulled up my skirt another inch. Naomi, frail and otherworldly, supine in my bed.
“You mean it?” Naomi asked in that little girl’s voice. She had opened her eyes again, and turned her head to look at me. When she spoke, her lips were mere inches away from mine and I could feel her cool breath. “You’re inviting me in?”
Her lips curved into a smile that turned in my my stomach like a knife. It was the smile that signified that something was off, that her question signified more than she was telling me.
But she was my best friend, and so I shrugged it off. “Of course,” I said.
“Perfect,” she murmured in a voice like velvet, and closed her eyes again.
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