How about a cookie?

I was outside on my rope, enjoying one of the first warm days after the long cold days.  The trees were budding and the grass was just long enough to make a comfy lay-down spot, which I took advantage of. There was a loud ruckus from the next yard. I couldn’t believe my doggy eyes. They were pulling a person from the house and had a rope on him. He didn’t fight them as they pulled him to the tree. They threw the rope over a branch and hauled the poor guy up. He still didn’t struggle. I got excited, wondering why they were doing this to the guy. 

The people all clapped, even the smaller people in the fancy clothes.  Just when I thought it was over, a big person came out with a long stick. It was too big to make a good fetching stick but the guy seemed to be happy to have it.  I stood up from my lay-down spot and watched.  To my horror, they wrapped a cloth around a small person’s face and turned him around a couple of times. They gave him the stick and he started swinging at the man in the tree.

YIKES!  I couldn’t stand it any more. I had to call for help. I had to do something. I was on my own rope so I knew the person on the rope in the tree couldn’t go anywhere either.  We were both stuck.  I sounded the alarm.  I barked… and barked… and barked.  I knew my person would be out quickly to see what I needed.  When she came out the door, I showed her with my eyes what the problem was. I barked again, telling her to go help the guy in the tree.

She laughed at me.  Was she as crazy as the people hanging the guy in the tree and hitting with a stick? I’d have never thought so. She sat on the ground beside me so I sat, too, to watch the horrible happening next door. After several of the smaller people took turns hitting the man in the tree, he split into pieces.  I held my breath, watching with eyes wide.  His insides spilled out on the ground and the small people laughed and dived to grab handfuls. It was awful. I turned toward the open door to my house. I couldn’t watch any more.

As I walked slowly in to the house, my person followed me.

“Don’t worry, Puppy. It’s only a piñata. You must think they were killing someone.”

Then she said the words that made my world right again.

“How about a cookie?”

(c) 2009 M.J. Conrad

Stand Still

(The Life of a Performer)

Perfectly still.

Nothing is moving at this precise moment in time and that's all right.

Things usually move too fast, too suddenly.

Too often without my permission.

My career,

My life,

Time,

Everything is beyond my control.

Where I go, where I perform.

What I perform.

This moment of silence.

This stillness

It holds me in its folds.

It feels right.

I fear as soon as I move,

Breathe,

It will scurry away.

Life is a storm raging around me.

It carries me along, heedless of my desires.

Precariously balanced on the edge.

Where I wanted to be.

Once.

Not this edge.

I fold my hands on a wooden post and rest my chin.

Thoughtfully stroke my lip with my thumb.

A childish gesture, yet somehow soothing.

Resting my cheek against the smooth oak.

The rustic odor is comforting.

Smooth beneath my hands, hands that work my craft.

Fingers calloused from strings.

My heart has become calloused as well.

Insincerity pervades each relationship.

This is not what I want.

Though it is what I have.

What I am.

What I have become.

I must be the best that I can be at who they tell me I am.

The silence is ending.

I raise my head high, drawing my hands across the wood as I walk away.

Into the storm.

Facing the wind.

(c) 2002 M.J. Conrad

Someone Special

By M. J. Conrad - AKA Jena' Galifany

She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Blond curls and china blue eyes. She was special. As a young man, I wouldn't admit how much I cared about her.

I went out of my way to irk her at every opportunity. We started battling, her and I, at age three and four. Being older, I expressed my superiority, which she challenge and, usually proved wrong.

Our first encounter at pre-school, she decided to go through a doorway. I decided to stop her. She peered at me, huge eyes framed in heavy lashes. I made a living X across the door. Access denied. She tilted her head, curls bobbled. She placed two fingers in her mouth. I saw the light come on in her eyes. I grinned in triumph. She grinned, in retrospect, in complete evil. She kicked me square in my masculinity. As I crumpled, she said, “Extuse me.” She stepped over, and left me in a heap of pain and disgrace.

During the elementary years, I followed across the street as she walked to school. She wore the perfect dress, the perfect shoes, and her hair in the perfect style. Ribbons decorated tresses that darkened over the years. Her blue eyes still melted my heart. I was ahead academically but she was ahead in maturity. And it showed.

I left her behind as I moved to junior high. For the first time in years we were in separate schools. One year later, there she was. I resumed my vigil over her, and made certain no one bothered her--except me. That year, her feelings for me flickered for a brief moment.

I faced the neighborhood bully. He was in my face shouting insults and threats. Before I knew it, she wedged herself between the resident evil and myself.

Oh, great! She’ll make me look like a wimp!

“Why don’t you leave him alone?” she shouted.

I couldn't believe it. That creep punched her. And she took it! Wow! What a girl. So I looked like a wimp. So what? She took a punch for me. Me—who tormented her for years. Oh, you've got to love a girl like that.

I left her behind as I moved on to high school. When she caught up again, oh man, she was the prettiest girl in the school: dark brown hair with natural blond streaks and sparkling blue eyes. Her tan was the envy of every girl. Her personality attracted every guy. That bothered me. Did she have to be so attractive? And her smile? Remember that dimple in her cheek? Devastating. Okay, here we go.

Three years I watched her. She hooked up with the wrong people. Got into the wrong things. I worried she'd end up injured--or worse. She screamed at me once when I followed her as she cut class and took off with some less-than-desirables. She threatened me in front of her friends. I felt hurt and rejected. But I couldn’t let go. I talked to her about what she was doing to herself. She'd never understand what she was doing to me, so I kept that to myself.

One night, a friend mentioned he'd seen her doing some bad stuff. I couldn’t sit there. I got a ride to the place, knocked on the door, and demanded to talk to her. She screamed it was her life; she could do as she pleased. Dejected, I left. Two guys she was with jumped me. One had a gun.

I took a beating. They slammed my head with the car door before I could get my battered self in. I cried tears of sorrow and pain. I hurt--physically and emotionally.

A year has passed since that night. We don’t talk much. When we do, it's with cold words. She's still beautiful, still has killer blue eyes. She married a terrific guy who takes care of her. He'll give her a good life.

She was at Mom’s house today. She slept in the recliner, bandages on both arms from giving blood. She’s having a baby. We still fight, but I see that little girl with curls and china blue eyes and know I was right. She's special. I asked mom if she's all right. It hurt to see her bandaged. Mom assured me she's fine.

She's my baby sister and after all is said and done, I love her—and always will.

©  2007, Jena’ Galifany

All Rights Reserved