No need to read
This is just stuff that i needed to put in a safe place since i had to return my computer. No need to read.
Toby’s Grace
By Amanda Humphrey
Mud can come out of anything in the wash except the bottom hem of your pants. No matter how hard you try, tiny brown specs of dirt will always find a way to embed itself in the inner most seem of your pant leg nearest your feet. Avoiding the mud puddles could most of the time prevent this inevitable incident from occurring. But then again you never realize how much you unintentionally smack your feet on the ground.
I contemplated such things as I walked home from my daily lunch at the local deli nearest my apartment. I had come to know the owner on a first name business, a little Asian man who lived with his wife and two toddler children in the vacant space above the deli. He knew my order, tuna salad with extra onions on toasted white bread, dill pickle and a can of fruit punch, and had it ready for me by the time he would see me cross the street. I often spoke to him about my plans for the future, him asking me about schooling and I often inquiring about his young children, the oldest not yet in kindergarten. His wife stayed at home most of the time, but helped with the finances and helped out in the store when she didn’t have her arms filled with screaming children. They were a cute little family, and they made me leave with a smile having felt the warmth and love surrounding them.
The sky was gray, threatening at any moment to open the flood gates making a monsoon seem as insignificant as bath water running. Only a few sprinkles filtered through, however, not leaving much chance for nasty mud gatherings-at least not yet anyways. My friendly, but overly energetic neighbor, drives by, stopping about 10 feet ahead of me, motions for me to get in.
“We’re going to the same place, might as well get in,” he says.
He regales me with his recent business trip, making me wish I were still walking out in the chipper cold. At least I can count the bricks on the side of the building in peace.
Today’s weather, although dreary, didn’t put a damper on my mood. The last couple days have shown real promise in soon having non stop beautiful weather. What did bring my sprits a little low was the thought that today was the one year mark since I had moved down south, and the six month mark since I had returned home. I sometimes wonder if I knew then what would come of my move and that I would be back here in dreadful Michigan only 6 months later, if I might have tried to make things a little better or given just a little more effort. Not saying I didn’t always try and give 110%. But then again I suppose we all have lazy moments. Then again what did I have to show for it today. I sit home in an empty apartment, feeling my life has no real meaning, and counting down the hours until I had to be back to work at the restaurant I had transferred to when I came back. I often wonder how I might use all this information if I’d had it last year at this time. Nothing spectacular comes to mind. I’m too much of a strong believer to dare and think of the what ifs. Everything happens for a reason.
Clutching my favorite book by my favorite author, I set all the contents of my lunch on the table and open to my marked spot. Instantly I’m captivated into a new world. Two actually. The one in which the characters are living, where the author portrays the hero and/or heroine going over obstacle after obstacle, finding out tidbits about the overall mystery, somehow tying them into the suspense filled plot, leaving them to solve the problem together, while trying to ignore their longing passion for each other and denying the inner growing feeling of love for the other. And then there’s the world where I let my mind drift to all my dreams and hopes and goals I want to accomplish. Then of course there’s always the one where I tend to merge the two together. That ones fun to stay in for a while, although quite depressing when brought back to the reality. I sometimes am brought to tears as I realize how long it may take for anything remotely close to my dreams to come true and from there I lose all motivation.
Reading has always been a passion of mine, recently turning into an obsession. Does it not only intrigue and fascinate me, but it also inspires me in my writing. It never lasts very long but when it does, stand back; Pulitzer Prize Winner in the making. Or at least that’s what my grandma says. She seems to think that I could write anything sell it and instantly become a best seller. She critiques me and helps me to improve my writing, and nothing would make me happier than to actually do what she thinks I could. All those years she kept pushing books and notebooks at me were starting to pay off because I thought I had finally found what I could write about. I often got that feeling, and while the rush of adrenaline and the feeling lasted for only a few days, it was wonderful while it did.
Recently the motivation for me has been proving that I can do something with my life without anyone’s help. Move to a town just the right size on the ocean, or near it would suffice. Open a bookstore, live in and fix up my dream house while I work on my books, raise a few kids and become a part of a community. Just like in the books I lived by. Only this time it was so much more possible because I was going to be the author. I just had to dig deep and find the hidden heroin character in myself. She was playing hide and seek. And was winning.
It seemed like no matter what I wrote about or where I allowed my dreams to take me, my thoughts always went back to children. When I was with number Seven, ( I numbered the men I had slept with after number three since my closest girlfriends didn’t have much time for the details of my life anymore, the numbers were the easiest way to keep up with my life. And what could I do. At least they remembered I wasn’t a virgin), I had a wee little scare. I found out there was a good possibility that I could be with child. I’d had the feeling for three very suspense filled weeks. And that’s when it hit me like a wave upon shore. I called it a pregnancy scare, but the scare wasn’t that I might be pregnant; it was that I might not be. I ‘d never realized how much a child warmed and melted my heart. I took a test at the end of those three weeks that showed negative. It was a little hurtful because the reality of not being able to give birth to a child saddened me to no ends; but on the other hand I was exceptionally happy because I most certainly did not want a child with the same genes as Tim the chinchilla lover. So I started to research the next best thing. Adoption. Only my roommate, and Number two, my ex-maybe someday again fiancé, knew about it. Being my best friend, my roommate supported me listening to all my ideas now matter how many times I repeated myself or sounded immature. Number two had other ideas about the situation. He seemed to think that one day soon my world would yet again revolve around him and getting married. “How do you expect me to accept this when you never include me on your decisions. Plus you are too young, not thinking before you act. Wait until we’re married. Then start with kids.” The thing was I wanted a kid now and on my own so that I could be the one and only love of its life, until it grew up that is. And I still wanted to live on the east coast and open my own business. Abram, number two to my friends, couldn’t see that. To him I was only nineteen starting a summer with no thoughts. What did he know. He was the one who joined the army to escape his issues at home instead of facing them or trying to further anything other than taking the easy way out and having the government do it for him. Not sure if that’s true, but it wouldn’t surprise me.
I know I sound cynical, but at times I think I almost blame him for the way my life has turned out. Ever since we were in high school, my decisions in life have almost always been somehow connected to him. I wanted to move into the east coast or to a town near my relatives, start working on my plans for the future. And a familiar feeling of guilt engulfs me and I remember how he is sitting there in a Fort in El Paso thinking that once he knows where he’s getting stationed, I will be right there ready to spend the rest of my life being his wife and throwing all my dreams away. I guess some of that is my fault. I’ve always been scared that there will be no one else out there that will love me the way that Abram does therefore I keep him as close to me as I can, no matter how I truly feel for him. I know its selfish and I should let him go and to meet other girls. Abram and I lost the fire in our relationship when it became routine and when I found that I have a love for myself that is greater than any man could ever give me. I may not always realize that its there; but the thought of me ever becoming anything remotely close to the heroines in my books makes me want to work twice as hard to try and achieve such a goal. And I honestly can say I would rather do it without marrying Adam. But when the cowardly insecure part of me wins over I let him make decisions and I agree to the marriage and starting a family in a few years. The sad part? I only want to do this for the children. Not because I truly love him anymore. Well, I love him. But being in love with him is something I haven’t been in a very long time.
That was the only thing I disliked about my days off from work. I thought way too much about things I wish I didn’t have to think about. I knew there had to be some cleaning done around the house and laundry was a must but I just sat there devouring my book as fast as I could, as if to get the strength I needed from the book. And it worked. I placed the book on the table, put on some of my karaoke music, and set to work. There wasn’t much I had to do other than the kitchen, so I tackled it and then knew I had to go do laundry because if I didn’t do it now it wouldn’t get done at all. Loading up my laundry hamper and grabbing the detergent I headed out the door towards the laundry matt. Although the deli and the laundry matt are two buildings apart, it seemed to go so much slower getting to the laundry matt. Oh I know why. It was because I was lugging 50 pounds of dirty clothes on the one hand and about 30 pounds of stuff in the other between my purse and the detergent. I should become a weight lifter.
I started the washer, grabbed a drink and some snacks and then sat down in a chair to do, what else, but read. I set the book down when the washer only had five minutes left and decided to stretch and look around. The family of Indian people who lived in my building were coming and going (at the moment going) and there was a young girl probably my age, an older gentle men probably in his mid fifties, and an older lady in her forties clutching an adorable baby boy who seemed to think to be set down in his carrier was a crime again sin and would bawl his head off to let her know what he thought about the idea. She didn’t seem to really listen to him as though she were used to the constant crying, but as soon as her load was in she was there to pick him up. The crying stopped. The older man was dressed in khakis with a black leather belt, a gray t-shirt with a name on the back, no doubt his, a baseball cap and nice sneakers. He had the stature of a man who had once played football or some kind of strenuous sport. He still walked with dignity as if to be admired by all, and if I hadn’t known his age, I would say he was rather good looking. Occasionally looking at the basketball game on TV, he folded his clothes in a very neat manner that showed he wasn’t married. The naked left ring finger declared this as well, when I noticed a college sweatshirt and wondered if he had been a professor of something. Maybe ancient history or world literature. His baseball cap had an opposing college on it with a similar logo. So maybe not.
The young girl was on the phone most of the time, and although she knew what she was doing looked as if she didn’t want to be there alone. As if she felt she were an outsider. On her phone almost the entire time, this showed that she wanted to make sure she wasn’t bothered, although feeling alone. That was fine. I wasn’t going to talk to her. I had my best friend with me. My book.
The laundry went much faster than I had anticipated, the entire time the Indian family returned, the girl and the older gentlemen left replaced by a couple in their late thirties and not having much in the money department, and then by the most interesting character I have seen in a long time. Being a reader/writer, I instantly wanted to observe him the entire time he was there. He walked a little off step and when he went back to his end of the laundry facility, he would often pop out his arm and make a noise as if he were scuffing at someone. The closest thing I could come to explaining it was to think of someone casting a spell on an opponent. Maybe this man saw things that no one else could. Or maybe there was something wrong with him that stopped him from actually acting appropriately in public. I liked my first thought.
I walked back home, although reluctantly, because no matter how much I tried to convince myself I wouldn’t, I knew the minute I got home I would finish my book and then where would I be? It was too soon to re read any of the other books I had recently read. Plus this one was my favorite so how were the other ones to compare?
Dropping everything at my doorstep, I rummaged in my purse for my keys. And that’s when it hit me. I hadn’t heard my keys clink the entire time I had walked today. I had left them on the table the night, or should I say early this morning, when I got home from work. And that’s where they still were. Sure enough, when I walked around to the windows there they were sitting just barely in view from under my hat. I called my boss at work since she lived in one of the buildings of the apartment to ask what I should do. Her only advice was to try and break in. Great. I tried to in the living room but all the screens were bolted shut. I walked around over to my bedroom window and yanked on the screen. It popped out free, although bent in a radical angle that I was sure wasn’t normal, and I was able to slide open my window. Damn why did I have to have my bottle collection right there in window. I tip toed over them and jumped down onto my floor. I thanked god at that moment that I was indecisive and could never decide whether or not to keep my window open or closed and that I always leave it open a crack.
I spent the rest of the day being lazy by writing on the computer, munching on candy I shouldn’t be eating, and watching TV for much longer than I should have before heading to bed. What a waste of a day.
Chapter 2
Toby’s Grace
By Amanda Humphrey
Mud can come out of anything in the wash except the bottom hem of your pants. No matter how hard you try, tiny brown specs of dirt will always find a way to embed itself in the inner most seem of your pant leg nearest your feet. Avoiding the mud puddles could most of the time prevent this inevitable incident from occurring. But then again you never realize how much you unintentionally smack your feet on the ground.
I contemplated such things as I walked home from my daily lunch at the local deli nearest my apartment. I had come to know the owner on a first name business, a little Asian man who lived with his wife and two toddler children in the vacant space above the deli. He knew my order, tuna salad with extra onions on toasted white bread, dill pickle and a can of fruit punch, and had it ready for me by the time he would see me cross the street. I often spoke to him about my plans for the future, him asking me about schooling and I often inquiring about his young children, the oldest not yet in kindergarten. His wife stayed at home most of the time, but helped with the finances and helped out in the store when she didn’t have her arms filled with screaming children. They were a cute little family, and they made me leave with a smile having felt the warmth and love surrounding them.
The sky was gray, threatening at any moment to open the flood gates making a monsoon seem as insignificant as bath water running. Only a few sprinkles filtered through, however, not leaving much chance for nasty mud gatherings-at least not yet anyways. My friendly, but overly energetic neighbor, drives by, stopping about 10 feet ahead of me, motions for me to get in.
“We’re going to the same place, might as well get in,” he says.
He regales me with his recent business trip, making me wish I were still walking out in the chipper cold. At least I can count the bricks on the side of the building in peace.
Today’s weather, although dreary, didn’t put a damper on my mood. The last couple days have shown real promise in soon having non stop beautiful weather. What did bring my sprits a little low was the thought that today was the one year mark since I had moved down south, and the six month mark since I had returned home. I sometimes wonder if I knew then what would come of my move and that I would be back here in dreadful Michigan only 6 months later, if I might have tried to make things a little better or given just a little more effort. Not saying I didn’t always try and give 110%. But then again I suppose we all have lazy moments. Then again what did I have to show for it today. I sit home in an empty apartment, feeling my life has no real meaning, and counting down the hours until I had to be back to work at the restaurant I had transferred to when I came back. I often wonder how I might use all this information if I’d had it last year at this time. Nothing spectacular comes to mind. I’m too much of a strong believer to dare and think of the what ifs. Everything happens for a reason.
Clutching my favorite book by my favorite author, I set all the contents of my lunch on the table and open to my marked spot. Instantly I’m captivated into a new world. Two actually. The one in which the characters are living, where the author portrays the hero and/or heroine going over obstacle after obstacle, finding out tidbits about the overall mystery, somehow tying them into the suspense filled plot, leaving them to solve the problem together, while trying to ignore their longing passion for each other and denying the inner growing feeling of love for the other. And then there’s the world where I let my mind drift to all my dreams and hopes and goals I want to accomplish. Then of course there’s always the one where I tend to merge the two together. That ones fun to stay in for a while, although quite depressing when brought back to the reality. I sometimes am brought to tears as I realize how long it may take for anything remotely close to my dreams to come true and from there I lose all motivation.
Reading has always been a passion of mine, recently turning into an obsession. Does it not only intrigue and fascinate me, but it also inspires me in my writing. It never lasts very long but when it does, stand back; Pulitzer Prize Winner in the making. Or at least that’s what my grandma says. She seems to think that I could write anything sell it and instantly become a best seller. She critiques me and helps me to improve my writing, and nothing would make me happier than to actually do what she thinks I could. All those years she kept pushing books and notebooks at me were starting to pay off because I thought I had finally found what I could write about. I often got that feeling, and while the rush of adrenaline and the feeling lasted for only a few days, it was wonderful while it did.
Recently the motivation for me has been proving that I can do something with my life without anyone’s help. Move to a town just the right size on the ocean, or near it would suffice. Open a bookstore, live in and fix up my dream house while I work on my books, raise a few kids and become a part of a community. Just like in the books I lived by. Only this time it was so much more possible because I was going to be the author. I just had to dig deep and find the hidden heroin character in myself. She was playing hide and seek. And was winning.
It seemed like no matter what I wrote about or where I allowed my dreams to take me, my thoughts always went back to children. When I was with number Seven, ( I numbered the men I had slept with after number three since my closest girlfriends didn’t have much time for the details of my life anymore, the numbers were the easiest way to keep up with my life. And what could I do. At least they remembered I wasn’t a virgin), I had a wee little scare. I found out there was a good possibility that I could be with child. I’d had the feeling for three very suspense filled weeks. And that’s when it hit me like a wave upon shore. I called it a pregnancy scare, but the scare wasn’t that I might be pregnant; it was that I might not be. I ‘d never realized how much a child warmed and melted my heart. I took a test at the end of those three weeks that showed negative. It was a little hurtful because the reality of not being able to give birth to a child saddened me to no ends; but on the other hand I was exceptionally happy because I most certainly did not want a child with the same genes as Tim the chinchilla lover. So I started to research the next best thing. Adoption. Only my roommate, and Number two, my ex-maybe someday again fiancé, knew about it. Being my best friend, my roommate supported me listening to all my ideas now matter how many times I repeated myself or sounded immature. Number two had other ideas about the situation. He seemed to think that one day soon my world would yet again revolve around him and getting married. “How do you expect me to accept this when you never include me on your decisions. Plus you are too young, not thinking before you act. Wait until we’re married. Then start with kids.” The thing was I wanted a kid now and on my own so that I could be the one and only love of its life, until it grew up that is. And I still wanted to live on the east coast and open my own business. Abram, number two to my friends, couldn’t see that. To him I was only nineteen starting a summer with no thoughts. What did he know. He was the one who joined the army to escape his issues at home instead of facing them or trying to further anything other than taking the easy way out and having the government do it for him. Not sure if that’s true, but it wouldn’t surprise me.
I know I sound cynical, but at times I think I almost blame him for the way my life has turned out. Ever since we were in high school, my decisions in life have almost always been somehow connected to him. I wanted to move into the east coast or to a town near my relatives, start working on my plans for the future. And a familiar feeling of guilt engulfs me and I remember how he is sitting there in a Fort in El Paso thinking that once he knows where he’s getting stationed, I will be right there ready to spend the rest of my life being his wife and throwing all my dreams away. I guess some of that is my fault. I’ve always been scared that there will be no one else out there that will love me the way that Abram does therefore I keep him as close to me as I can, no matter how I truly feel for him. I know its selfish and I should let him go and to meet other girls. Abram and I lost the fire in our relationship when it became routine and when I found that I have a love for myself that is greater than any man could ever give me. I may not always realize that its there; but the thought of me ever becoming anything remotely close to the heroines in my books makes me want to work twice as hard to try and achieve such a goal. And I honestly can say I would rather do it without marrying Adam. But when the cowardly insecure part of me wins over I let him make decisions and I agree to the marriage and starting a family in a few years. The sad part? I only want to do this for the children. Not because I truly love him anymore. Well, I love him. But being in love with him is something I haven’t been in a very long time.
That was the only thing I disliked about my days off from work. I thought way too much about things I wish I didn’t have to think about. I knew there had to be some cleaning done around the house and laundry was a must but I just sat there devouring my book as fast as I could, as if to get the strength I needed from the book. And it worked. I placed the book on the table, put on some of my karaoke music, and set to work. There wasn’t much I had to do other than the kitchen, so I tackled it and then knew I had to go do laundry because if I didn’t do it now it wouldn’t get done at all. Loading up my laundry hamper and grabbing the detergent I headed out the door towards the laundry matt. Although the deli and the laundry matt are two buildings apart, it seemed to go so much slower getting to the laundry matt. Oh I know why. It was because I was lugging 50 pounds of dirty clothes on the one hand and about 30 pounds of stuff in the other between my purse and the detergent. I should become a weight lifter.
I started the washer, grabbed a drink and some snacks and then sat down in a chair to do, what else, but read. I set the book down when the washer only had five minutes left and decided to stretch and look around. The family of Indian people who lived in my building were coming and going (at the moment going) and there was a young girl probably my age, an older gentle men probably in his mid fifties, and an older lady in her forties clutching an adorable baby boy who seemed to think to be set down in his carrier was a crime again sin and would bawl his head off to let her know what he thought about the idea. She didn’t seem to really listen to him as though she were used to the constant crying, but as soon as her load was in she was there to pick him up. The crying stopped. The older man was dressed in khakis with a black leather belt, a gray t-shirt with a name on the back, no doubt his, a baseball cap and nice sneakers. He had the stature of a man who had once played football or some kind of strenuous sport. He still walked with dignity as if to be admired by all, and if I hadn’t known his age, I would say he was rather good looking. Occasionally looking at the basketball game on TV, he folded his clothes in a very neat manner that showed he wasn’t married. The naked left ring finger declared this as well, when I noticed a college sweatshirt and wondered if he had been a professor of something. Maybe ancient history or world literature. His baseball cap had an opposing college on it with a similar logo. So maybe not.
The young girl was on the phone most of the time, and although she knew what she was doing looked as if she didn’t want to be there alone. As if she felt she were an outsider. On her phone almost the entire time, this showed that she wanted to make sure she wasn’t bothered, although feeling alone. That was fine. I wasn’t going to talk to her. I had my best friend with me. My book.
The laundry went much faster than I had anticipated, the entire time the Indian family returned, the girl and the older gentlemen left replaced by a couple in their late thirties and not having much in the money department, and then by the most interesting character I have seen in a long time. Being a reader/writer, I instantly wanted to observe him the entire time he was there. He walked a little off step and when he went back to his end of the laundry facility, he would often pop out his arm and make a noise as if he were scuffing at someone. The closest thing I could come to explaining it was to think of someone casting a spell on an opponent. Maybe this man saw things that no one else could. Or maybe there was something wrong with him that stopped him from actually acting appropriately in public. I liked my first thought.
I walked back home, although reluctantly, because no matter how much I tried to convince myself I wouldn’t, I knew the minute I got home I would finish my book and then where would I be? It was too soon to re read any of the other books I had recently read. Plus this one was my favorite so how were the other ones to compare?
Dropping everything at my doorstep, I rummaged in my purse for my keys. And that’s when it hit me. I hadn’t heard my keys clink the entire time I had walked today. I had left them on the table the night, or should I say early this morning, when I got home from work. And that’s where they still were. Sure enough, when I walked around to the windows there they were sitting just barely in view from under my hat. I called my boss at work since she lived in one of the buildings of the apartment to ask what I should do. Her only advice was to try and break in. Great. I tried to in the living room but all the screens were bolted shut. I walked around over to my bedroom window and yanked on the screen. It popped out free, although bent in a radical angle that I was sure wasn’t normal, and I was able to slide open my window. Damn why did I have to have my bottle collection right there in window. I tip toed over them and jumped down onto my floor. I thanked god at that moment that I was indecisive and could never decide whether or not to keep my window open or closed and that I always leave it open a crack.
I spent the rest of the day being lazy by writing on the computer, munching on candy I shouldn’t be eating, and watching TV for much longer than I should have before heading to bed. What a waste of a day.
Chapter 2