WELCOMING FALL [POETRY]

 Warm glow behind frosted glass

Are we ready for pumpkins at last?

Spice on the air, awaking our tongues

As we breath the chill deep into our lungs

And dream of dark nights and costumes bright

Apples dripping candy, children’s delight

As we step back in time or summon the future,

Dressed up in scrubs, marred by a suture,

And when tricking is done, we tally our treats

And wait while our hot chocolate heats

Gazing at a moon so full in the sky

As our minds now turn to pumpkin pie

Hello, dear readers. I hope you are ready for fall. It snuck up on us amongst all the excitement. I started this poem sometime in August. It can be rather cold when you are walking around your neighborhood before the sun is even up. Or maybe I am already half thinking about costumes and treats?

Of Best Friends and Weddings: Part II [FICTION]

Read Part 1, here!

After a couple of minutes, murmurs break the stillness. Restless feet tap out a soft rhythm as impatience fills the assembled guests. Some bob their heads up and down, trying to decide whether or not to turn toward the back of the sanctuary. Others take the opportunity to slip their phones out of purses or pockets, staring down at little screens with zero interest in the events transpiring near at hand. John squeezes my hand as snippets of conversation reach our ears.

“What is going on?”

“That must be his ex.” My cheeks burn as more eyes turn toward me.

“No. That is the bride’s brother’s ex.”

“Huh?”

“The one who…” The voice fades to an indiscernible whisper, but I know the lies it conveys.

“Oh! Her!”

I grit my teeth to keep my own thoughts from escaping through my lips. 

John leans in to whisper in my ear. “Ignore them. Pay attention to me.” 

He squeezes my hand softly, leaning into me. I bite my tongue, afraid I won’t be able to hold back much longer. Mama appears in the doorway and gestures toward me. Every eye turns  back toward me. John takes my hand as I shuffle toward Mama with my head down.

When I am close enough, Mama leans in to whisper, “I think we ALL need to talk, sweetheart.”

“All?” I squeak.

“Yes, they are waiting.”

I follow her to a small room labeled “Bride’s Room”. I hesitate and John pulls me back toward the door. “We’ve got this.”

Mama raps on the door. “We are coming in.”

As I step inside, I see Caroline and Tom standing on opposite sides of the room. Though her eyes are now dry, streams of mascara transform her into a raccoon rather than a blushing bride. Her mouth twists into a pout as her eyes meet mine.

As I waver, turning back toward the open door, Mama grabs my hand and pulls me into the room. John steps in front of me, as if to protect me from Caroline as he gives her a once over. He relaxes a little as he takes in her petite frame and tear-streaked face. Mama steps behind me to pull the door closed and barricade it with her body. She crosses her arms defiantly.

“No one leaves this room until I am satisfied as to whether or not my son is getting married today.”

“That’s up to him.” I croak.

Tom stands silently, looking from Caroline to me with wounded eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He almost whispers as sad eyes focus on Caroline’s face.

“I didn’t know.” An almost inaudible whisper.

“Really?” His voice rises. “You saw pictures of Tara and I at her wedding…hanging out…”

“By that time, I was in love with you. I didn’t think you would marry me if you knew who I was and what I had done.”

John grips my hand tighter at her words. I step back into him and he wraps his arms around me. I sink into the protective bubble of his arms, leaning my head back against his chest as I grip his hand tighter.

“You admit that you lied,” I snort, “Finally!”

“You know how we were.” Caroline whines. "We were always so competitive and then you broke Vince’s heart.”

“He broke up with me,” I sneer.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “That isn’t how he told it.”

“So you told everyone that I cheated on him and stole from you?” 

Caroline starts to cry. “I’m sorry. So sorry. Tara, please…” She blubbers into unintelligible pleas, presumably for forgiveness.

But are those tears real? I step forward to peer into her face, confused and unwilling to forget the past, stopping as John pulls me back in protectively. The tears look real enough, gleaming in the corner of her eyes before rolling down her cheeks. She glances at me and then steps toward Tom, reaching out her hand for his. She turns those wet eyes back to him as he stares at her open hand without moving to take it. She manages to compose herself and lowers her hand, clasping it tightly with the other as she breathes deeply and begins her pleas anew.

“I couldn’t tell you about Tara and I. By the time I realized you were that Tom, I was already in love with you. Please! Forgive me! Marry me!” She sinks to her knees in front of him, slipping off her engagement ring off to proffer it to him.

Tom’s features soften. Then he turns to me, awaiting my response. I bite my lip, my eyes riveted on the ring. It has the tiniest diamond I have ever seen. Though she wrapped a curtain around herself to hide her dress, I note that she chose a simple hairstyle and light makeup that doesn’t try to hide the years that have transpired since we last spoke. 

“You really have changed?” I question my own realization though the woman before me doesn’t share the same tastes as the woman I knew.

“I have.” She bites her lip. “I will go out there right now and confess to everyone that you didn’t really cheat on Vince or steal from me. I should have done it long ago, but…”

“You were afraid…” I finish for her.

She nods her head. “But I wanted you here. Just as much as I wanted you here.” She turns to Tom, pleading with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“I do love you.” He whispers to her, looking to me apologetically. “But you…”

“I didn’t set out to lie to you. Please.” She begs again and then they both turn to me.

“You would really tell everyone out there the truth…”

“Yes.” She interrupts breathlessly hopeful.

“…on your wedding day.”

She nods, gripping the curtain tighter around herself and stepping toward the door where Mama still stands guard. “I will tell them right now.”

“I will tell them,” Mama says, refusing to yield the door, as she looks to me. “If you want me to.”

“I don’t want today to be about me.” I demur as John gives me a reassuring hug.

“So my son is getting married today?” Mama looks at me.

I look to Tom, shrugging my shoulders. “You know her better than I do. Do you want to marry her?”

He blinks back tears as he nods his head.

“So you’ll marry me?” Caroline asks, slipping the ring back on her finger as Tom nods again.

“We should get this going before the guests give up and leave,” Mama opens the door.

“I have one more big favor to ask.” Caroline says, offering me a hopeful smile.

I narrow my eyes, “How big?”

“I need a maid of honor.”

“What?” I choke out the word.

“I have a dress.” She looks me up and down. “And I think I guessed the size right.”

Caroline reaches toward a garment bag hanging from an oversized hook on the wall. She pulls down the zipper to reveal a cocktail dress in a soft blue. 

“Ummm…” I look at John doubtfully.

He shrugs. “That color would look gorgeous on you.”

Mama reaches out to take my free hand. She mouths three words to me, “An olive branch.”

I nod my head and reach for the dress. “I guess I can be a bridesmaid…”

“Maid of honor…” Caroline corrects me.

“…but it will be awkward…”

“I know, but I had always hoped….” I read the memory of weddings we had planned in our youth in her eyes.

I nod my head. “That I could take attention off of you on your wedding day.” I murmur as the irony hits me.

“My own fault.” She replies.

“I better go finish getting dressed,” Tom says, nodding toward John.

“I’ll go with you, so the ladies can get ready.” John gives me arm one last squeeze on his way out.

“Let me help you,” Caroline offers as Mama closes the door behind the men.

“You will not. You will sit down, so I can fix your make-up.” Mama commands, stepping forward to grab tissues and makeup remover from the vanity. “Tara can wait to be zipped until you are gorgeous for those wedding photos I plan to have all over my house to show my grandkids.” She prattles on as she goes to work.

I slide off the simple dress I chose for this event. Slipping the blue silk over my hips and onto my shoulders, I realize Caroline guessed my measurements correctly. I slide the zipper as far up as I can before turning to watch Mama work her magic. Soon no hint of Caroline’s tears remain.

Mama continues to direct us until we both meet with her approval. As we step into the hallway, we are greeted by two bridesmaids in slightly simpler versions of my dress and two groomsmen. They eye my curiously. The best man grins at me as I realize John has been roped into being part of the wedding party as well. He reaches for my arm as Mama begins offering whispered orders to each of us. She lines us up behind Tom, casting a warning glance at Caroline as she peeks out of the bride’s room.

“You wait until someone raps on that door before you come into this hallway, young lady.”

Caroline nods and slips back behind the door before gently closing it.

Mama takes Tom’s arm and guides him toward the door. “Walk your mother down the aisle to appease some gossipmongers.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says softly.

They walk calmly to the front of the chapel. I see heads turning to peer back toward the door, but Mama clears her throat loudly and holds up her hands.

“This is a wedding. A time for the uniting of two families. A time, apparently, for forgiveness. Caroline has asked Tara to be her maid of honor,” She makes a disapproving cluck as murmurs spread through the chapel. “The two have put aside the past. You should do the same. Tara is a wonderful girl and never stole from her friend. Save your gossip and speculation for tomorrow. Today, we celebrate the marriage of my son…”

She lets her unspoken warning fall over the crowd. 

When silence reigns again, she motions for the pianist to begin playing the wedding march and the wedding begins…

Finally, the conclusion of our tale from a couple of months ago. I hope you enjoy it. I also hope the Corona Blues aren't keeping you down. 

Don’t Be Offended: Be Kind [PREACHY]

 I caught snippets of a friend’s social media feed last night and had to go back and read it again. Two of my smart, beautiful, creative, and talented friends were comparing notes on their experience in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. They experienced or heard about events that made them uncomfortable with attending church. Their comments made my heart burn within me because I don’t ever want anyone to feel like they aren’t loved or welcome by Heavenly Father. And I don’t want anyone to turn their back on God because someone else made bad choices. So many thoughts have entered my head in the intervening hours that I am afraid I will not be able to express them properly, but I want to try.

First, President Russell M. Nelson revealed a new proclamation in April of 202. The first paragraph encapsulates so many of my feelings that I want to share it:

“We solemnly proclaim that God loves His children in every nation of the world. God the Father has given us the divine birth, the incomparable life, and the infinite atoning sacrifice of His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ. By the power of the Father, Jesus rose again and gained the victory over death. He is our Savior, our Exemplar, and our Redeemer.”

If you ever felt unloved at church, it was not Heavenly Father’s intention. I had a friend tell me, many many times, that the church is not the people. I needed to be reassured multiple times because humans are not perfect. We fall short. We have to keep trying and striving to be better. 

God, however, is perfect and his love for us is perfect. He wants all of his children to be happy. He wants all of us to know we can turn to him. He may not always respond in big miraculous ways, but he will answer our sincere prayers, often through the Holy Spirit whispering to our hearts or someone else stepping forward to fill our need.

Second, a talk by Jeffrey R. Holland keeps coming into my mind. One of the points he makes is that:

“My brothers and sisters, except for Jesus, there have been no flawless performances on this earthly journey we are pursuing, so while in mortality let’s strive for steady improvement without obsessing over what behavioral scientists call “toxic perfectionism.” We should avoid that latter excessive expectation of ourselves and of others and, I might add, of those who are called to serve in the Church—which for Latter-day Saints means everyone, for we are all called to serve somewhere.”

Yes, we are asked to serve. Yes, sometimes what we are asked to do can be hard. But it is worth it. If we truly feel uncomfortable, Heavenly Father won’t judge you for walking away. He will give you other chances to grow and progress as you are ready. Keep in mind, that sometimes we don’t have as much faith in our ability as he does.

Third, one of the concerns that my friends mentioned was abuse and sexual assault within the church. Once more, I repeat that anyone choosing to use the church to manipulate someone into such activities is not acting in accordance with the wishes of the church. Heavenly Father wants us to help each other, not hurt each other.

I remember a red-faced missionary who was about the same age as me asking me about the law of chastity to make sure I was really ready to be baptized. Similar questions get asked by bishop’s and stake presidents before making other important covenants in the church. I can see how the questions could be misconstrued, but I have never had a church leader make me feel like they were trying to take advantage of me.

The men who actually made me feel uncomfortable at church were never in positions of power. One pushed my up against a wall of the chapel  in a very suggestive way and then laughed when I fought him off of me. Another told me my clothes would look better crumpled on his floor and then laughingly claimed it was a joke (if I wasn’t interested). I even had a few guys very pointedly tell me they only joined the church because they were promised a wife. As far as I know, they have all disassociated from the church with some excuse for how the church made them feel “less than”.

As I was reading through this week’s “Come Follow Me” lesson, it referred me to a talk by David A. Bednar that I think I need to read more often because I sadly find myself easily offended. He reminded us:

“When we believe or say we have been offended, we usually mean we feel insulted, mistreated, snubbed, or disrespected. And certainly clumsy, embarrassing, unprincipled, and mean-spirited things do occur in our interactions with other people that would allow us to take offense. However, it ultimately is impossible for another person to offend you or to offend me. Indeed, believing that another person offended us is fundamentally false. To be offended is a choice we make; it is not a condition inflicted or imposed upon us by someone or something else.”

And:

“Understanding that the Church is a learning laboratory helps us to prepare for an inevitable reality. In some way and at some time, someone in this Church will do or say something that could be considered offensive. Such an event will surely happen to each and every one of us—and it certainly will occur more than once. Though people may not intend to injure or offend us, they nonetheless can be inconsiderate and tactless.

"You and I cannot control the intentions or behavior of other people. However, we do determine how we will act. Please remember that you and I are agents endowed with moral agency, and we can choose not to be offended.”

In short, I understand that people are imperfect, whether they choose to go to a certain church or not, but I testify that I know that the church is true. I know that Heavenly Father loves us. I know that if we listen for the Holy Spirit, it can comfort us, warn us, and guide us. Life is hard, so don’t make it worse by cutting out your biggest fan, your Heavenly Father. Let Him help you. Let Him guide you, and don’t let anyone keep you from living and believing.

~~

I am including links to articles I referenced in case you want to study them more deeply. I also feel I should share a post that came to my attention about a new book. I haven’t read the book yet, but I feel like it might give perspective to someone who is struggling.

The Proclamation

Elder Holland’s Talk

Come Follow Me: Introduction From General Conference

Come Follow Me: 2020 Handbooks

David A. Bednar’s Talk 

Charlie Bird’s “Without the Mask”

Of Best Friends and Weddings [FICTION]

“I’m not sure I should be here.” I whisper to my husband John as he links his elbow with mine.

“It’s your best friend’s wedding.” He leans into me and kisses my cheek. “He wants you here.”

“But his girlfriends always get the wrong idea.” I hiss.

“Surely, this one knows you are harmless. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been fiancé.” He grins.

I nod. “That’s true.” I lean in to smooch his cheek.

“I’m sure she isn’t half as beautiful as you though.” He kisses me back, letting his lips linger on mine.

“I did find it odd that they didn’t send an engagement picture with the invite.”

“Not everyone does that.”

“Everyone else I know does.” I respond.

He shrugs his shoulders, clearly unconcerned by this breach of protocol. As we approach the heavy wooden doors leading into the church, I stare intently into the opening. As we approach the ushers, I look away from the interior into a familiar smiling face.

“Bride’s side,” my old boyfriend Vince tells the gangly teenage boy at his side.

“This way,” the disinterested teen says as he steps in front of us.

“Um, no.” My brows furrow as I look at Vince.

“You are here to see Caroline get married, aren’t you?”

“Your sister, Caroline?” I squeak.

“We’re here for the groom, actually,” my husband looks from my face to Vince’s questioningly. “You know each other?”

“This is Vince,” I mutter.

“Oh.” My husband stands up taller, assessing Vince with discerning eyes. “Oh. That means Caroline…”

“…is the bride.” I mumble.

“Your Caroline?” He asks.

I nod my head.

Vince’s smile no longer clings to his face. Confusion takes its place. “Caroline told me you guys had come to an understanding.”

“An understanding that we would never speak again.” I inform him. “Or see each other.”

“Oh. Then…” He looks at John. “You must know the groom.”

John snorts. “You guys dated and you don’t know that Tom is her best friend?”

“Wait. What?” Vince’s mouth hangs open. “Thomas Carter is your Tommy.”

I bristle. “If you had trusted me about Tom, I wouldn’t have met John.” I sneer as old emotions flood over me. “So thanks for being a jealous tool.”

“i think we better show ourselves to our seats.” John glances at a couple who pauses at a discreet distance to watch the show unfold.

“I don’t want to sit down.” I hiss.

Vince snickers. “Good luck with that, man. I need to help someone who isn’t crazy.”

“Come on, sweetie,” John slides his hand into mine and gently pulls me toward a seat on the righthand side of the chapel.

I follow him into the pew but take the seat on the aisle and sit. He tries to coax me further but I refuse to move. He sits down next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

“You never told me what exactly Caroline did,” he whispers.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m your husband. Try me.” He leans in to better hear my answer.

“She poisoned her brother and this town against me,” I incline my head toward the nearest guests.

The organist warming up the pipes makes enough noise to drown out the whispers, but no amount of chaos could make me unaware of the stares, the lips moving swiftly with decades old gossip as their eyes can see only me, and the sideways stares of those wise enough to keep their mouths shut. John looks around and then back to me. His jaw clenches.

“So you being at her wedding…”

“…makes no sense.”

“Unless she wants you here for some reason.” John frowns and glances toward the front of the chapel where the bride will stand.

“I can’t let this happen.”

“I agree.” John takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t leave until I stop this wedding.”

He sighs and grips my hand in his. “Honey, please, I have seen the way you get when you think of her. Don’t do whatever…”

His words dissipate as I pull him in my wake. I stalk to the front pew, where Tommy’s mom sits elegantly attired to celebrate her only son’s big day. My heart lurches as I realize what I am about to do. As I reach her, I fall to me knees. I feel like a little girl again, visiting my best friend and hoping his mom will give me one of the cookies I can smell on the air. But I don’t smell cookies. I only smell the cloying sweetness of flowers and perfume.

“I’m sorry, dear, I don’t have room for cookies in this.” She holds up a sequined navy clutch and reaches out to pull one tight curl that dangles by my cheek.

“I don’t need cookies, mama. I might need you to help me.”

“With what, dear?” She smiles softly, but her smile fades as she surveys my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Hopefully nothing.” Hope that Caroline has changed embeds itself in my heart as I take a deep, cleansing breath. “I assume you have met your future daughter-in-law?”

“Of course, dear.”

I open my mouth but can’t find the words to ask. My mouth won’t speak words that could break her heart.

With my own heart in my throat, I ask. “Has she mentioned me?”

Grey brows knit together as she ponders my question. “Why should she?”

“We went to school together.”

“Really? I was under the impression she went to a private school.”

“Caroline Logan’s parents couldn’t afford private school.”

Mama takes her feet at those words. “Logan? Her last name isn’t Dottson?”

“It wasn’t when I knew her.”

“Then she has been married before?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Mama’s jaw tightens. “Excuse me, dear, I have to go talk with my son.”

My jaw drops as I watch her walk away.

“I feel like I better get ready for some fireworks,” John whispers in my ear. “Unless I can convince you to leave this place with me.”

“No chance.” I whisper as I realize most eyes in the room have refocused on me now that Mama has disappeared.

I ignore them, clutching John’s arm as I stare toward the back of the sanctuary and await my fate.

~~~

I got a little side-tracked by life, so this piece might turn into a two part series or leave you wondering forever. Feel free to vote in the comments.

Finally wrestled part II from my muse!

Dad Rules [FICTION]

When I turned sixteen, my dad told me that in order to live life to the fullest, I needed to live by three rules.

1. Do all things with love.

2.  Remember, it can always get better.

3. Nothing except hockey is worth losing teeth over.

I never struggled with the first two, but that third one once proved untenable for me because of a cheeseburger. 

First, you have to know that I was a poor college student at the time. It was my second semester of college. 

Second, on that particular day, I only had enough money to buy a single cheeseburger.

Third, you have to know that the Applebaum Deli made the best cheeseburger that I have ever tasted. I have a feeling that was tied into me being a poor college student, but at the time I would accept no substitutions.

Fourth, that day was probably he roughest of my college career. I learned I failed a test for which I had studied all week. I lost one of my favorite earrings down a sewer grate. Don’t even ask about what brought about that calamity.  

I entered the Applebaum Deli and my day looked up. No one was in line. In fact, I could see the cook peering out the window at the few patrons to see if anyone needed food. His face lit up as he saw me.

“You want the burger, miss?” He turned away before I could answer.

I nodded anyway. The cashier rang up my order and returned to a far table where she was sorting clean silverware. As luck would have it, nature called, so I hurried into the bathroom. Upon my return, I found a skinny young woman sitting at the counter eating a burger with great gusto. I didn’t think much of it until the chef poked his head out of the kitchen window and looked from me to the other girl in confusion. 

The other girl remained oblivious to me, scarfing the burger down like she hadn’t eaten in a week. My own hungry stomach gurgled uncomfortably.

The cook finally spoke, “Did you need something, miss?”

I raised an eyebrow, “I just paid for a burger.”

“Oh?”

He turned disappointed eyes to the girl. She stuffed the last bite in her mouth and looked up at him, smiling with tight lips as she swallowed. She stood up and began backing toward the door.

“Wait a second.” The cook said, stepping out of the kitchen. “You said that she bought that burger for you.”

“She did.” The girl giggled and bolted for the door.

Hunger and disappointment from the day swirled around me and set my weary feet to pursuit. I caught hold of her hair before the door could close between us. She rounded on me. She might have been tiny, skinny, and underfed, but she was strong. She threw a right into my jaw so lethal and precise that I saw stars and released her hair to put both hands to my lip, which was coated in blood.

As I pulled my hand away, I noticed a chip of tooth nestled in my palm. The cook and cashier surrounded me. She took my hand and lowered me into the nearest chair, while he leaned in to peer worriedly into my face. He apologized a million different ways and assured me that he would get right to work on another burger.

“…If you think you can eat it.” He added as he noticed the tiny token in my palm.

My stomach declared its willingness to try, so I ran my tongue along my teeth before responding. “Yes, please.”

As he disappeared into the back, the cashier helped me clean myself up. “Sorry about that. Sometimes, she does manage to talk someone into buying her a meal. We just assumed…”

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have got so angry.”

“They call that hangry.” She smiled at me.

And that is when I realized that I had broke one of the dad rules, but let’s keep that between us.

~~~

This seemed like the perfect offering to help you celebrate Father's Day weekend. I hope you have picked out the perfect tie and the perfect card, perhaps featuring bacon or gas or other manly humor. And if you are a father, I hope you get extra snuggles from your tiny humans this weekend, even if they are now almost as tall or taller than you. Thank goodness for all the awesome dads and the men willing to fill their shoes when they aren't there to counsel us...

I Stand By You [POETRY AND RANT]

You don’t know it, but I stand beside you

I wish my cloak could extend to hide you

From those who would choose to do you harm

But I lack the power to disarm

Those who arm themselves with hate

But I dream that we can change a fate

That has you quaking, lost in fear

A torment you don’t deserve

And I hope you forgive my nerve

For, if you let me, I will stand at your side

Hold your hand, never try to hide

The truth of my admiration for you

Of all that you are and all that you do

Believe in yourself, try to believe in me

And build a better world than we see

~~~

I know this post is a little late to the party, but I struggle to find the right words. It is so hard to find words that no one will be offended by. And if I write a post long enough to express everything I am feeling, it will be a novel.

Black Lives Matter!

And, yes, all lives matter. The analogy explains the importance of this best is Jesus’ parable about the shepherd and his sheep. He left the many to rescue the one because the many were not in danger: the one was. 

I don’t claim to understand what black people go through. I am so white that I think I justify a classification of “pasty white” on surveys. I do, however, have some experience with people judging me based on preconceived ideas. Despite proving my abilities in both math and reading, I kept getting placed into the remedial classes in grade school based solely on my last name. My personal safety was threatened a couple of times in middle school by my association with an older brother who practiced offending people. But you can’t look at me and know about those stigmas.

We need to give people a chance to show us who they are before me make decisions about them. We need to be more like toddlers. I walked away from my daughter long enough to hand a form to the receptionist at the doctor’s office. I returned to find her happily playing with a new friend. She didn’t care that he was a boy. He didn’t care that she was half his age. And neither of them cared that they weren’t the same color. Until I came over. Then the little boy looked up at me to gage my reaction. I smiled at him. He smiled back, and they went back to playing. And my heart ached a little that such a sweet little boy already knew he had to be worried about people’s prejudices.

I grew up in a small town in a formerly Southern state, until they broke away in 1863. I didn’t get a lot of chances to interact with people who were different from myself. And when I did, I had the good fortune to meet people who gave me reason’s to admire them for our differences. I learned to notice that someone was funny, smart, kind, loving, or breathtakingly beautiful instead of judging them on qualities they have no control over or something someone else did.

Be kind. 

Show love… to everybody. 

Be your best self.

Stand up for what is right.

And have a fantastic Friday.

Lazt Day

‘Last day. Last day.’

I sing this happy song deep down in my heart. The whole summer unfolds in my imagination. Days of sun and surf and late nights filled with bonfires and s’mores. I spin the dial on my locker one last time and stuff loose papers and thin notebooks into my backpack. As I pull the zipper over the memories, I notice hurried footsteps clicking toward me.

“Come with me. Now!” My best friend grabs my hand and pulls me toward the cafeteria. “If you don’t come now, people will die.”

I grunt in response, following in her wake as my bag bangs against my back. She doesn’t stop running until we reach the cafeteria’s double doors. I give her a questioning look as I realize the doors are closed. I have only seen them closed once—during a tornado drill.

“What’s going on?” I gasp for air.

“Just look.” She hisses and tilts her head toward the skinny window in the heavy wooden door.

I take a step forward and peer through the smudged glass. I gasp again. On the other side of the glass, two of my classmates lurch between long rows of tables, tripping over chairs. Through the large glass windows on the opposite side of the cafeteria, the remainder of the school watches anxiously.

“Really?” I mutter.

“They must not have known you were here.” My best friend pats me on the back.

“I don’t think zombies know much of anything.” I glance down the hall before pulling off my jeans and t-shirt to reveal a spandex outfit featuring a large Z in a circle bisected by lightning. 

As I slip a mask out of my bag and over my face, my friend grins. “Zombinator to the rescue.”

“I never agreed to that name.” I mutter as I reach into my bag, producing two stakes.

“But I did.” She winks and opens one of the doors for me.

The zombies turn toward the squeal of poorly tended hinges. One tilts its head to the left and surveys me with milky eyes. The other lurches toward me, opening its mouth to release undefinable gibberish. 

Someone in the crowd of onlookers whispers, “Zombinator.”

I clench my jaw and step forward, trying to ignore the awed echo of the ridiculous moniker as the zombies hungrily shuffle toward me, slowing raising their arms. “Arrghhh.”

“Sorry, guys,” I mutter, raising my stakes and darting forward. “No meals for you.”

I drive one stake home in the eye of the zombie to my left. The second slips lower and I shudder as it slams into an open mouth, pouring gore onto my hand. As I try to hold down my lunch, a roar of approval erupts from the other side of the glass. A door opens and the bravest of the curious step forward for a closer look at the now inert zombies at my feet. I turn and disappear through the double doors, where my best friend greets me.

“You did it again.”

“And I need to wash my hands.” I hold them up. “Again.”

We race toward the bathroom. Halfway there, I note with relief that my backpack rests on her shoulder.

“And it is time to go back to being a normal, dull girl.” She notices me eying my backpack. “Don’t worry. I know you need your change of clothes.”

“Indeed. Being a super zombie killer would be even harder if people knew who I am.”

She nods agreement as we slip into the bathroom for a quick change before joining the rest of our classmates to gape at the vanquished zombies.

“Did you see that?” One of many voices breaks through the chaos to reach my ears.

“Wow. The Zombinator took out both of them in one smooth move.”

“She is so cool. That’s how we know she doesn’t go to this school.”

I throw out a few comments of my own, but they get lost in the general chatter as I mentally prepare myself for a busy summer with more zombies than sunshine. I find myself scanning the throng around me, fighting back a chill as I wonder how many of them I will meet under unpleasant circumstances before fall arrives.

~~~

When I was a kid, the last day of school was usually at the beginning of June, so I thought this an appropriate choice to enliven the first Friday of June. Hope you are all staying well and taking care of yourselves. Feel free to leave some love...