Thom's Side of the Story

by Ellen Pepper

        

        None of it was my fault. I know what people say. Some tell me to my face. They don't get it. Nobody does. Nobody ever tried to understand me, especially my father Charles. We were expected to call him by his name rather than Dad, Papa, Father - any of the titles that would link him to us paternally. He thought it made him seem younger to not be a parent.

        Since I was the first-born son, I was groomed to join my father in the family business after finishing college - not that Charles respected education, because he didn't. He just thought it would look good to have a degree noted on the company letterhead. If he could have gotten away with pretending that I'd graduated, he would have saved all the money he spent on sending me to school.

        I married Rita right out of high school. She was always my favorite girlfriend - her family had money and property. We lived off-campus and started making babies.

        By the time I started working with Charles as his assistant, I was already a father of three very noisy kids. I never managed to get enough sleep at night - someone was always acting up. Sure, when they were a bit older, we'd go on family adventures to parks and what have you but that ended up getting too complicated after a while what with the kids coming down with allergies and arguing all the damn time.

        My job was okay, at first. It was great being the Boss' son, people would defer to me even though I had no interest in what I was doing and no clue as to how to do it anyway. I found it amusing to punk people just for fun. I fired the people who wouldn't play along. Especially the women who didn't know how to have fun, if you know what I mean.

        After a few years, the clients started being too demanding. Always wanting deadlines met and saying the accounting was wrong and blaming me. When Charles told me to start paying more attention to the job and to stop causing clients to  break contracts because of my so-called incompetence, I told him a few home truths about how it was his own fault for not paying enough attention to me when he was building up his ego all those years ago.

        That's when he demoted me to the loading dock. Sure, I'd be the boss there, but his new plan was to bring in one of my brothers to take my job as his assistant.

        I was so fed up by that point that after work on Friday I went down to the riverfront casino just for a change of scenery. A former client had taken me there once and I'd won a tidy bit of cash. I deserved some fun in my life, I decided.

        And that was the beginning of the end of my happy life. Such as it was. I lost everything because the games were rigged. I kept trying to get the luck to come back to me and I know it would have, if I hadn't run out of money. I'm sure of that.

        My marriage was ruined, my kids grew up without me, I spent time in prison for something stupid and now I live at the back end of the old Mercantile Bank that will soon be demolished. I saw one of my sons at the shelter one Christmas. We lost touch after that.

        I know people would say it's my own damn fault that I lost everything but what did I have, really? What did I have of my very own? Everyone else had something. I had nothing, not even myself.

©Ellen Pepper 2024

 Thom Romen

      by Ellen Pepper

        Thom was first seen standing beside a traffic light pole on a humid, cloudy summer day. He wore shabby clothes, a torn t-shirt and grubby shorts.
In one hand, he held a neon green high-vis vest,  and a plastic baseball bat was in the other. On his scrambled sun-bleached hair was a red cap with white lettering. His sandals were held together with duct tape. Thom's face was dirty and haggard, his cold blue eyes unforgiving and antagonistic.

        Thom had turned his life into a clichéd riches to rags story. When young, he'd had it all: a well-to-do family, the finest schooling, an attractive appearance, and great personal charm. He married Rita straight out of high school and, after college, went to work as his father's assistant in the family business. He took his wife and 3 children to Episcopal church every Sunday. He hosted dinner parties at his home. Thom was set for life.

And then...

        One day a client pressured Thom to accompany him to the local casino. Initially, Thom was reluctant to lay down a bet because he was unfamiliar with gambling. The client was very helpful - giving instructions that were easily understood. Lucky Thom spent $60 and won $2000. Was he immediately hooked? Not really. He thought it was fun but he could take it or leave it. 

His wife, when told of the win, felt nauseated and fearful. She was aware of gambling addictions. She knew that Thom had become bored with his life. He'd become lethargic in the evenings, not speaking much and losing patience easily with the children. He'd given up on his hobbies and slept through what had once been his favorite tv shows. He lacked enthusiasm for weekend family adventures. He was emotionally detached. Ripe for the plucking if any temptation presented itself.

A few weeks later...

        Thom's ennui and carelessness caused him to lose a client's business. And then another. Soon, he was no longer allowed to deal directly with clients because his attitude  had become toxic.  His father's angry threats about losing his job soured his stomach. Because his bitterness was causing pain, and he wanted desperately to feel better, he recalled how pleasant it had been when he won money so easily at the casino.

He visited the casino on a Friday night around 4:30PM.
He did not go home until Sunday morning. His wife and kids were bereft. The police manhunt had found him in the casino and escorted him home. He was drunk, disheveled and broke. He'd maxed out his credit cards and won only $200, which he had then lost.
He and his family did not attend church that Sunday.

        On Monday morning, instead of heading in to the office, he returned to the casino.

Soon...

        Tears, job loss,  separation - wife and children moved away, then divorce. Then loss of custody with only occasional visitation because Thom had become violent with his family.

On the day that Thom was seen with his red cap, high-vis vest and plastic bat, he was on his way to attend his eldest son's Little League game. He'd promised to wear the vest so his son could spot him in the crowd. He planned to wave the bat to get his attention.

By the time he arrived, the game had been over for 2 hours and his son was nowhere to be seen. They didn't see each for 10 years. Thom's son found him while volunteering at a homeless shelter. 

That's where Thom had lived since leaving prison.

©Ellen Pepper 2024

EVANESCENT

 

EVANESCENT

by Ellen Pepper

Have you ever tried to hold a soap bubble in your hand? It's impossible, isn't it? Shimmering iridescence cannot be held. It's a temporary beauty.

Tarquin as a boy was gentle, delicate, charming and blessed with a generosity of spirit that made him loved by many and bullied by an envious few. He was radiant with kindness. His eyes were hazel, his hair a glorious shade of gold, his skin was clear and glowing. He was the epitome of grace.

As he matured, he realized that his duty was to entertain and amuse others while helping them to come to terms with the fact that they were differently perceived by those who led more prosaic lives. He cultivated loving friendships in a small community in his medium-sized town and all was well in his world. Until...

A party was to be held to celebrate one of the group who had been honoured with a prestigious award in the Arts for his lifelong body of work. It would take place on a Friday in June. Pride Month.

 Tarquin would be the Master of Ceremonies, because of his wit and the fact that everyone loved to gaze upon his beauty, in both the physical form and that which radiated from within.

On the night, there was dancing and good food and bonhomie and announcements and a talent show and laughter and a general mood of loving kindness and festivity.

In this town lived also a group of European immigrants who were driven by machismo. They felt resentment toward Tarquin's group for living a different lifestyle than that to which they were compelled to conform from birth. Their religion taught them that it was an abomination for men to love other men. Driven by devotion to a false god of hate, ignorance, and destruction, these men were determined to wipe out the scourge of what they considered to be freaks of nature.

At midnight, the riled up gang of macho men arrived at the nightclub where Tarquin and his community were partying. As one, they bashed in the entrance door and forced their way in through the crowd. Shouting like mad warriors, they made their way onto the dance floor where the music was still playing and men were dancing together. This enraged the group. Shouting and punching ensued. Shock and horror.

The music stopped abruptly. A fracas erupted. Ruination was done to bodies. Knives came out.

A man ran to his car to retrieve his Glock.

Tarquin raced onstage to the microphone and blew a series of piercing whistles. The fighting paused.

“I don't know what we've done to you men to make you want to hurt us. We mean you no harm. Please stop this battle right now. Let's talk things through before anyone else gets hurt. Let's be reasonable and, if you can't be reasonable, then leave my friends alone and take out your hate on me.”

There was a rush to the stage and the madmen surrounded Tarquin and damaged him. They broke his limbs and smashed his face into a pulpy mass. His friends tried to save him. The man with the Glock shot at the ceiling. Police arrived, summoned by someone who had maintained their presence of mind when the attack had begun. First responders began collecting the injured.

Tarquin was taken to hospital. Still alive, but barely.

Now, Tarquin sits in his wheelchair watching birds in the oak tree and kittens on the lawn through the large window of the care home in which he is forced to live. His gracefulness destroyed, his spirit broken. His voice with its dulcet tones stifled by the damage to his throat. One eye blinded. Permanent dents in his skull. He mourns the friends who no longer exist.

His youth and beauty were as evanescent as a soap bubble. Impossible to hold in your hand.

 ©Ellen Pepper 2024

 

 Alice and Mr Mike

by Ellen Pepper

Once upon a time, somewhere long ago...

Mr Mike held up a $100 bill and said something that was hard for her to understand because of his thick accent.

Alice: "You want me to be your girlfriend for a hundred bucks? Is that what you said?"

He nodded.

"I'm only 11 years old."

He laughs, "That's no problem."

Alice disagreed, "It's against the law, for one thing. You'd be thrown in jail."

He: "You don't tell nobody, nobody goes to jail."  Laughs less heartedly.

Alice: "My mother is in the hospital right now having another one of your babies. What is wrong with you? Your own daughter is my age."

He: "Nobody needs to know. You get a hundred dollars. It's a good deal for you."

Alice: "How would I be able to respect myself if I betrayed my mother and sold my body for 100 dollars to a married man twice my age who has eight children with his wife and dozens more kids scattered around the city in all the rental properties he owns?

You have sex with almost all the women who rent from you because they're poor and you give them a break on their rent.
There's a word for men like you and it's not something to be proud of.

 Since you're the father of two - no - three of my siblings now, I won't tell my mother about your good deal.
Don't try this with any other little girls or I will report you to the police. When you get out of prison, you'll be sent back to your own country."

Mr Mike hands her the money: "Keep this."

Alice: "Have you not been paying attention to what I've said?"

Mr Mike: "You take it. You are not a little girl - you talk like a lawyer. You are trusty and strong. I think good of you now."

Alice: "I will save this money to go to university when the time comes."

Mr Mike: "You are smart girl. I still like you. Is it okay if I ask you when you get older?"

Alice: "Don't even think about it."
-----------------------------------------------------
©Ellen Pepper 2024

GOOD MORNING, MRS MOORE

by Ellen Pepper

A brightly sunlit room, early morning.
A woman sitting up in bed and leaning against pillows watches a nurse preparing to check her vital signs.

MRS MOORE: What am I?

NURSE: Oh, you're awake. You slept a long time. As far as can be readily determined, you are a human being on a planet called Earth.

Mrs M: Why am I here?

NURSE: Ah, now that's the question, isn't it? The deepest thinkers throughout history have asked that question but I doubt that the true answer has been found yet. In your particular case, however, you're here because you've been in a lengthy coma.

Mrs M: What are you?

Nurse: I'm a fellow human acting as your caregiver.

Mrs M: Why? Why can't I care for myself?

Nurse: As I said, you've been in a coma. That means that your every need had to be tended to by others.

Mrs M: Is this the real life? Is this a fantasy? The last thing I remember is saying, "Good night for now." How long was I in a coma?

Nurse: You went to sleep in the 1900s.

Mrs M: How old am I?

Nurse: 93 but you don't look a day over 72.

Mrs M: Why am I still alive?

Nurse: I guess this is another one of Life's Mysteries.

__________________________________________
...3 days later...

Nurse: A reporter from the media will visit you this afternoon to talk about your life. He has a lot of questions.

Mrs M: He'll be disappointed. I remember nothing.

Nurse: You may be surprised - he's bringing documents and images from your life that may jog your memory.

Mrs M: What's his name?

Nurse: David Mitchell.

Mrs M: How old was he when I fell into my deep sleep?

Nurse: (thinking) He wasn't born yet.

Mrs M: Oh dear.
___________________________________
...that afternoon...

David Mitchell: Good afternoon, Mrs Moore. I'm glad that you agreed to meet with me today.

Mrs M: I didn't have a choice. It's good of you to stop by but I'm afraid you're wasting your time. I have a void where my memories should be. The coma erased my past.

David: Ah, but I come bearing memory aids!

Mrs M: That's nice, dear. Tell me - do I have a husband?

David: You did, yes.

Mrs M: He died?

David: (nods) 20 years ago.

Mrs M: Did I like him?

David: Most people thought so.

Mrs M: Have I any children?

David: You did. There was a plague and many people were lost to it.

Mrs M: So I'm alone in the world?

David: You have thousands of fans who think of you often.

Mrs M: Probably just wondering if I've finally popped my clogs. Why are they fans? Was I a circus performer?

David: Not at all. You were a highly respected actor. You won multiple awards. Here, let me show you a photo montage on this view screen.
(He waves his hand and images of Mrs M onstage and in films over the years appear in the air.)

Mrs M: What is this wizardry? How is this possible?

David: What? Oh, right, you fell asleep just as technology started exploding. Must seem like wonders and miracles to you.

Mrs M: Is that me? All those pictures? Was I that woman?

David: Yes.

Mrs M: What do I look like now?

David clicks her image into the air.

Mrs M: I am not that same woman. I don't think that young one was me.
I have a feeling that the reason I remember nothing is that I'm someone else just visiting this body. But why? What would be the point of inhabiting an old, decrepit body for what may only be a few weeks or years? What would be the point?
And, what if I am that woman just waking from a coma? Why bother to come back, especially with no family or friends ...or even the ability to walk.

 This is insane. 

I don't want this. I don't want to be here.

__________________________________
The next day...
A brightly sunlit room, early morning.
A woman, with eyes closed, leaning against pillows doesn't watch a nurse preparing to check her vital signs.

Nurse: Good morning, Mrs Moore.
Oh, your vital signs are absent. Oh.
You didn't stay long this time Mrs M.
Good night for now.

----------------------------------------------------------------
©Ellen Pepper 2024

LYDIA & BILLY'S NIGHT OUT

 

LYDIA & BILLY'S NIGHT OUT

by Ellen Pepper

"Where is he?” Sitting alone at the table in a Stygian and cacophonous nightclub, a woman with a haunted expression scans the room looking for the man who brought her here to hear his favorite band. The music had been sublime and the evening pleasant; her companion amiable.

 

Earlier...

 While they listened to the music, a woman in a tattered crimson gown approached them and told the man that he looked familiar. Lydia glanced at Billy and noticed for the first time that he had shaved his beard – looking twenty years younger. There were a few stray short hairs near his right ear that he'd missed. She told their visitor that with his fine bone structure, he looked just as handsome. The woman vanished into the crowd after nodding her agreement.

The band they'd come to see left the stage and was replaced by another, much less musically appealing. She noticed that Billy had gone over to the far wall and was conversing with a man completely clad in black. They were smoking and wore serious expressions. She glanced away, only for a minute, but when she looked back, he was no longer there. He wasn't visible in the crowd. He'd said nothing before he left the table.

Unconcerned, she expected him to return shortly.

He didn't.

After half an hour had passed, she became worried. She had never enjoyed the frantic ambience of nightclubs or crowds, and the band was making a raucous noise. Lydia wanted to leave but she waited for Billy's return.

He didn't.

When she looked down at the table, she saw that he'd left two drawings done in black felt pen – one a self-portrait at his desk and the other a garish cartoon character with a malevolent expression. Disturbed, she put them in her purse.

She decided to check the men's room – perhaps he had been detained there with a problem. She knocked at the door but there was no answer. She entered and saw that the urinals had been removed – possibly during the social-distancing pandemic. The restroom was deserted but then a man with long, shiny ebony hair and intense gray eyes entered and asked her business. She told him that she was looking for Billy who seemed to have vanished. The man gave her an unsettling knowing look, washed blood off his hands, and entered a stall.

Back in the club, Lydia wandered aimlessly around desperately hoping that Billy was somewhere, anywhere in there.

He wasn't.

The feeling of abandonment was piercing her. There was no way that this errant behaviour could be understood.

As she stepped outside, she saw an ambulance leaving, lights flashing, but the siren wasn't on. A crowd had gathered around a large pool of blood on the pavement. Lydia spotted one of Billy's boots lying beside it. So was his knife...the one she'd given him on his birthday the night before.

©Ellen Pepper 2023

LAURA

 LAURA

by Ellen Pepper

The last time I saw Laura, she was sitting upright in a hospital bed attached to tubes and appliances put in place "to make her comfortable". She was conscious and alert.

Two of our brothers were in that private room - Laura laughingly called it "The Infamous Dying Palace" because patients who were leaving the planet soon were given their own space for privacy - mostly to contain the weeping and wailing of loved ones saying their goodbyes. Nobody wanted the relatives of other cancer sufferers to be exposed to the grief. After all, some people survive the disease, right? 

Right?

Our youngest brother was on a garlic kick - he chewed clove after clove of the stuff, trying to avoid "catching the cancer germs". When he hugged Laura, she told him that the stench was sickening her. He moved to the far side of the room.

An attendant came in to adjust the pain meds that came out of the wall and went into her plastic face mask via tubes. Strong enough to knock out a horse, the guy said. Laura wasn't even stoned. Just pain-free.

She told us that the doctors were planning to try out a new type of treatment in September. However, this was near the end of June and she was already at the stage where her pain meds were 24/7, so...

Also, when I'd first arrived that day and broke the news that a mutual friend couldn't make the trip down from Toronto with me but was intending to come the following week, she sighed and said that it would be too late.

As the day went on, we spoke of funny things that had happened when we were children and laughed until we cried.

We turned our heads and looked over at the sun-filled window, when the medics came in to tend to her.

Eventually, the time came for me to rush to the  station to catch the last train to Toronto. I touched her hand rather than going in for a hug, fearing to dislodge the medical devices attached to her. She insisted that I hug her hard because, "You never know when you'll see someone again."

When my other brother and I went out to the parking lot, I was saying something banal but was suddenly caught off-guard and started bawling. Bro didn't know what to do, so he was silent until I calmed down. Then he said that miracles can happen and to hold onto that thought. Right.

The next day, another brother flew in from BC to visit Laura. After talking for a while, she asked to have her headrest lowered and said that she was waiting for our mum to arrive so she could leave. She started smiling and pointed at the corner of the room and said, "Look! There are angels in the garden! Its Springtime. So beautiful!"
Laura had never believed in life after death. Religion was not part of her belief system.
Spirituality was laughable and a waste of time to her. And yet, here she was seeing angels.

Mum was late, as usual. She arrived after the angels took Laura away but, even so, a single tear fell from Laura's eye as mum grabbed her and wept. 

And then Laura's aura faded and she was gone.

June 30 1999. Laura was 29 years old.

  ©Ellen Pepper 2023

Karma and the Witch

 Imagine this...

"SHE'S A WITCH, BURN HER!"

An American far-right politician, member of the Republican Party, businesswoman, and conspiracy theorist who has been the U.S. representative for Georgia's 14th congressional district since 2021 was elected to Congress in 2020 . There's no need to mention her name.

Before running for Congress, due to her conspiracy oriented mindset, she supported calls to execute prominent Democratic Party politicians, including Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Later, she included Nancy Pelosi on that assassination list.

She doesn't always tell the truth. [1]

She wants to impeach Joe Biden for being a good president. She falsely claims that he's corrupt. [2]

On Wednesday she showed what appeared to be sexually explicit images of Hunter Biden, President Biden’s son, during a hearing of the House Oversight and Accountability Committee. Knowing these photos to be graphic, she gave a parental advisory to viewers.
She also sent it via email to all and sundry.

After the hearing ended, Rep. Jamie Raskin (D-Md.), the panel’s top Democrat, said in an interview that displaying the images was “completely irrelevant” to the hearing and “did not advance in any way the putative objective of the hearing.”

Greene’s move, he said, was “deliberately provocative and sensationalistic and voyeuristic,” adding, “I hope to speak to the chairman about this as an assault to the dignity of the committee.”[3]

IMAGINE THIS...
Now, imagine an alternate reality in which one member rises from his seat and solemnly states, "If a man was displaying salacious, non-consensual nude photographs of a female private citizen, he would be immediately ejected from this building and never  allowed to return. Why should this scurrilous woman not be given the same treatment? For this, she should become persona non grata in civil society.
SHAME on her for lacking the decorum, courtesy and...(his voice lowering to a growl) any decency whatsoever to do such a thing!"
Pointing a finger at her, "SHAME ON YOU!"

Other representatives start rising from their seats and echoing, "SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!" while punctuating each word with a single clap of their hands. 

"SHAME!" (clap)

"SHAME!" (clap)

"SHAME!" (clap)

 As one, they advance toward the dais - clapping and shaming - while the vile miscreant is scrambling to collect her oversized pornographic photos. She suddenly leaps up and makes her way toward the exit, leaving behind her 3-toed ruby slippers.

The crowd begins shouting, "SHE'S A WITCH, A WITCH! BURN HER! BURN THE WITCH."

She races to find a hiding spot...but the angry mob finds her - with them still shouting "WITCH! WITCH! WITCH! BURN HER! BURN HER!BURN THE WITCH!"
However, unfortunately for she who cares nought for any others, she is caught and hog-tied.
This time, there is no one to stop them, unlike in the Monty Python film wherein the mob was convinced to see if she could float like a duck before burning.
Maybe they'll just "Lock her up!" ...if she's lucky.

©Ellen Pepper 2023

_____________________________________
[1] https://www.cnn.com/2021/01/21/politics/fact-check-marjorie-taylor-greene-twitter-election-capitol/index.html

[2] https://www.abc6.com/rep-mtg-introducing-articles-of-impeachment-against-president-biden-friday/

[3]https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2023/07/19/marjorie-taylor-greene-hunter-biden-photos/

Ref:  https://youtu.be/X2xlQaimsGg
"She's a witch! Burn her! Burn her!"
Monty Python's Holy Grail
Ruby slippers courtesy of The wizard of Oz

 

Marissa and Beth

 Marissa: "I always thought that there'd be another kiss. Another lover. Someone would come along and we'd fit together so smoothly that we'd never part. I waited patiently. The years went by - one after the other. There were no more kisses. There was no lover. There's a line in a Simon & Garfunkel song, "I have squandered my existence." That's how I feel quite often."

Beth: "Would you like some more tea?"

M: "Sure, I  wouldn't mind."

B: "How many years have you been alone?"

M: "Let me see...all my life, really, but my last relationship ended over 30 years ago."

B: "Why didn't you date, or go to places where you could meet people?"

M: "I guess I'm socially awkward - I'm uncomfortable around strangers. Kind of counter-productive, I know."

B: "And now you think it's too late for someone new to come along."

M: "Definitely. Besides, who could I trust these days? I'm sure you're aware of all the dating scams out there that have ruined lives and broken hearts. "

B: "Yes, I've experienced that..."

M: "Tell me what happened, if you're comfortable doing so, of course."

B:"Well...I met him online. We hit it off right away. He was charming and had interesting opinions and mirrored me so well. I thought we were soulmates. As a matter of fact, he even said so. He was moving so fast that I felt dizzy. I said we should slow down until we met in person.
 Every week he said he'd come to see me that weekend but every Friday he vanished until Monday came. No contact at all. He never explained - just said he was busy at work but he'd stop by the next weekend.
I asked him why I never heard from him after work. I was becoming suspicious - I thought that he might be married."

M: "Was he?"

B: "Possibly. He denied it, of course. But then he began sniping at me - first so subtly that I wasn't sure he meant to be cruel. Then I started confronting him about his chronic lying. He went silent for a few weeks but then returned and resumed the love-bombing.
By that time, I could see that this was a dead end so I told him it was over and why I didn't want to continue. It enraged him. He made threats. I blocked him. Told him that I had done some research and knew the truth of his pathetic life."

M: "Have you heard from him since then?"

B: "No, thank the gods. Since then, I've also lost interest in meeting new people, so I guess we're both in the same boat."

M: "It's not so bad - at least we're not stuck with horrible partners."

B: "There is that, but it sure would be wonderful to have someone to love."

M: "Yeah. It's better to have trustworthy friends, though, isn't it?"

B: "Oh yes. More tea? Can I tempt you with some tiramisu? I made it myself."

M: "Yes, please... and thank you. Let's watch a movie and chill."

B: "No romantic comedies, though?

M: "No way! Won't be fooled again."

(Laughter)

 ©Ellen Pepper 2023

 

Lilia the Librarian

 Lilia Constable

We met in Grade 9 Science class at a Catholic college prep school.
She wasn't the prettiest girl, being stocky, stolid, and lacking in physical grace. Some would call her features homely. However, she was kind and compassionate and had warmth and a sweet disposition. Her hair and eyes were shiny and chocolate brown with a hint of gold. Her skin was clear and glowing.

We were teamed to do a project together - to determine the contents of a thick black sludge in a jar provided by the teacher - a mean-spirited nun with elephantiasis of her lower limbs.

Since I was unable to commit to after-school projects, I told her to go ahead and work on it herself and take the credit for it and that I would explain my circumstances to the teacher.

 When I handed in my paper, I told Sister St. Margaret that, since I had to tend my siblings, I could not contribute to the project and that Lilia deserved full credit for the work. 

All I could say about the glop in the jar was that it was thick black sludge that reeked of sulphur. I was given a D.

 Lilia, of course, being a diligent worker, earned an A for correctly identifying the substance. She apologized to me. I have no idea why she did that as it wasn't her fault. 

To this day, I have no idea what that jar contained.

Years passed. Life went by. One day, fifty years later, Lilia came to my mind and I wondered how life had turned out for her.

I looked her up and discovered that she'd graduated university and became the Head Librarian at the school we had once attended.
She worked there until she retired. The school had honoured her with a retirement party. It was reported in the local newspaper. She was highly praised by all who knew her.

It seems she had married after high school and had several children, as well as earning her Bachelor of Arts degree.

She was still married to the same man all those years later and was a grandmother.

One husband,  one job, several children and grandkids, the respect and affection of her peers.
All in all, a good life for someone raised in a functional family who went on to create another of the same.

I can't imagine living as settled a life as that - I've never experienced it - it's like something from a novel. Do I envy her? Maybe just a bit... but, as I was told by a young girl at a dinner table - we get what we get and we don't complain.

©Ellen Pepper 2023

Miriam Gottlieb

 by Ellen Pepper

An elder woman sits at her desk in a retirement home, working at an online jigsaw puzzle and thinking about her life.

Comes a knock on the door, and a voice calling out, "Mother, it's me, Martha. I'm here to visit you."

"I have no children, dear, but come on in and we can chat."

The middle-aged woman enters, cooing condescendingly, "Of course you have children, I'm your daughter, don't you know me anymore?"

"You're in the wrong room. You've mistaken me for someone else. What is my name?"

Martha: "Don't you remember your name, Mother? Has it come to this?"

"Just tell me the name of your mother, and we can clear this up right away, dear."

Martha: "My mother's name is Miriam Gottlieb, as you should know."

"Well, there we go, then. Mrs Gottlieb's room is down the hall - Room 312. You should visit her - she hasn't had a visit from her children in over a year. Maybe five."

Martha heads toward the door, somewhat confused. As she opens it, the elder woman says, "I think she died this morning. That's ok, though, they don't remove the bodies until nightfall, so you can spend some time with her corpse."

Martha gasps and dashes down the hall.

Almost immediately, chaos erupts in the hallway - doors slam, voices are raised, and running footsteps are heard.

Nurse Hermingard  whips open the snickering elder woman's door, with Martha directly behind her and laughingly says, "Have you been pranking again, Mrs Gottlieb? You gave your daughter quite the fright. She thought you were dead. Now she thinks you've lost your mind."

"She's not my daughter. A loving child wouldn't stick their mother in a tiny room in a dismal place reeking of urine, dismay, despair, and death. A loving child would have taken a beloved mother into her own eight bedroom home and hired nursing staff - she can afford it. She's just here to see if I'm on my way to the final exit. She didn't even recognize me, Hermie. That's why it was easy to fool her. No, I'm done with her. And, if she's looking for inheritance, it's too late, I gave it all away to people who have shown me love, respect and compassion, unlike her."

Martha: "I would have recognized you more easily if you hadn't changed your hair. This is the best home in the city. It's very expensive to have you here. Herb and I had to jump through hoops to get you in."

"You're using my money to pay the fees, so the expense is a non-issue. This is not a home. It's God's Waiting Room. A home is with family. Loving family. I gave up teaching to give you a secure home. I stayed with your father so you'd have both parents in your home. None of that makes any difference to you, does it?"

Martha: "But what about my children -  your grandchildren? Will you leave them nothing? And I want your jewellery. You know how much I love it."

"I haven't seen my grandchildren in the five years I've been in this place. They have no interest in me. I no longer have interest in them. That's fair, isn't it? My jewellery has been given away. There's no reason for you to come back for it."

Martha: "But Mother..."

"I'm not your mother. You are not my child. Please leave and don't come back. Don't worry about my funeral arrangements - they've been taken care of. I'll be cremated and buried under a tree. No funeral circus. I'll vanish into dust. Don't worry, I won't haunt you because you mean as much to me as I do to you."

Martha: "I'll be in touch with my lawyer to get a POA - you aren't competent any longer.  

To Hermie: "I'm leaving. Can you get my parking voucher?"

Hermie: "I'm afraid not. Since you have no family in this facility, you aren't eligible for that."

Martha leaves.

"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child".

Hermie: "Who said that originally, Ms G?"

"Pythagoras, I think."

Both laugh - Hermie knows that she's joking by the mischievous glint in her eyes.

Hermie:"I'll be back with your lunch in five. French onion soup and a chicken sandwich."

Miriam goes back to her jigsaw puzzle... and thinking about her life.

_________________________
© Ellen Pepper 2023

THE WANDERER

by Ellen Pepper

Hi Angela,

I hope all is well with you. I have some news from the farm. It's kind of funny. It would be funnier if I could tell you in person.

A couple of days ago, when I went up to the road to check the mail, I saw a tiny kitten wandering around the backyard all by itself while the other cats were waiting at the feeding area.

I greeted the little one and asked why she was so far away from her mum. Then I asked the assembled mums whose kitten it was. They all put on innocent faces and turned their backs. Except Blackie - she was watching intently to see what I'd do. Eventually, after she ate, Blackie took the kitten by the scruff of its neck and scooted off in the direction of Seb's house. He and his wife are the nearest neighbours.

Yesterday, I thought I saw it lying dead on the bike path near the road but when I went up to what I thought was its corpse, it turned out to be an empty and abandoned bird's nest.

This morning at around 8am, a text came from Seb, asking whether we'd lost a kitten. The poor mite was in Melissa's wheelbarrow and M was quite taken with it but they have already rescued several cats and thought that it should be with its mum. Melissa described it as looking like it's only a week old, but that I know for a fact that it's closer to being 2 months old - it's just small for its age.

Derek went over there and put the kitten in an Amazon box then took it back over to the  feeding area on our patio. Blackie was crying for it near the front door when she heard its meowing as it was taken into the house. She was frantic. She raced to the back and pulled it from the box, started licking it and gave it an exasperated lecture. Then Brown Mumma came by and they discussed the little globetrotter.

Blackie picked it up by its scruff and went off, back toward Seb's place.

About 10 minutes went by.

The next thing we saw was Melissa walking up to the feeding area with the kitten in her hands. It seems that Blackie had returned it to her yard. We all had a laugh about it - a good way to start the day. I think that Blackie wants her baby to live with Seb and Melissa.

Did I mention that this kitten is very cute and appealing as well as being an adventurer? It's obviously tugging at Melissa's heartstrings and I have the feeling that she's going to adopt it, sooner or later. I've never known such an intrepid wanderer amongst the annual crops of kittens.
I'll let you know how this turns out.

Take care, Sis
love, Emily

P.S. Tell your Amos that I'm proud that he graduated high school. They grow up so fast, don't they?
P.P.S. The farmer is tilling out back - he started up after all the fooforaw this morning.

©Ellen Pepper 2023

 

Spark of Life

 by Ellen Pepper

There's something magical about the human condition.
We are born. Most of us don't remember being born and yet, here we are.
We start breathing on our own but remain helpless for quite a while afterward.
We are not able to walk or talk or feed and clean ourselves. Somehow, we survive.

Time passes and many of us, in certain parts of the world, follow a set pattern in living: attend school, find employment, become involved in partnerships, and become parents. Not all of us follow that blueprint, though. Some are lucky enough to break away from societal norms to lead a somewhat more free life. This can be hazardous if one wants to live in comfort and ease. Walking away from the set program comes with the risk of being an outcast - not many can face that grim reality. Some, on the other hand, relish not being stuck in a prison of expectations.

Time passes, shit happens and we grow old. Then, inevitably, our bodies die and we're gone.

Children learn pretty early on that, not only do people and animals die, but they will cease to exist at some point. To a young mind, death is inconceivable until loved ones and pets vanish from their lives, never to return. Some question the reason for this. As time goes on, they ponder  the point of even participating in a life that will end - at which time they'll find themselves back in the non-place they were before they were born... that they can't even remember.

As far as we know, or are taught, our spark of life began when a sperm met an ovum and they hit it off, creating what would be us in less than a year. After that, the "adventure" begins.

Out of every 24 hours, we must stop what we're doing and become unconscious. If we fail to do this for too many days, we tend to become psychotic. Meanwhile, when we're "asleep" our minds create dreamscapes that may or may not be a product of our own mind but could be spiritual in origin...or just the effects of postprandial digestion.

During life, there are those who hold fast to a religion. Religions being created by power-hungry humans in order to control other, more gullible humans. Religions that cause people to exterminate others who don't share the same religious beliefs, all in the name of their "God", who, realistically - having created this vast Universe - has little time to give a toss about what people on this planet are doing in "His/Her/Its" name.

Death. Now that's always an unexpected kick in the ass. We claim to comprehend that our time here is finite, but, really, who ever believes that they will die? Sure, health enthusiasts do everything in their power to stay alive, or at least live longer - what with gulping down vitamins and following a healthy diet, but without taking into account the possibility of a Mack truck smashing into them, or myocardial infarction, or plague, or their Segway falling off a cliff - sending them into Eternity before their time.

Here we are, nurturing our own precious spark of life, even though it will be snuffed out, with our little lives passing unnoticed by those who come after us shielding their own spark of life against the harsh winds of actual living.

It seems to go on for so long, but, in reality - looking at the eons of time already passed - it lasts just as long as a spark from a matchstick.

Enjoy yourself and take shelter from the storm.

It’s later than you think.

©Ellen Pepper 2023

 

Artwork of the Eternity Symbol

by Mark Garlick

RIP, my dearest friends

 Someone is killing the feral barn cats with poison. Obviously, it's being done by clueless folk who have moved here to escape the city. What they don't realize is that the feral cats are essential to keep down the rat population.

Last year, a tiny, rambunctious kitten named Gollum came home from exploring and dropped dead near the feeding area.

Before he was taken away for burial, all of the other cats touched him with a paw, one at a time, to say goodbye. That fluffball of sweetness was loved by all, except his murderer.

Yesterday, a turkey vulture was seen feasting on one of our ferals who died in the bean field on his way home from wherever he was poisoned. After devouring his corpse, that vulture will likely die also.

Earlier this week, another cat was found dead in the same field. Feral cats don't have long lives, it's the nature of the beast - Nature does its thing. It doesn't help that they're also smashed into by transport trucks racing down the nearby 2 lane road. If they're able to, they try to cross through the ditch to get to the house for medical aid, but most don't make it that far. Their broken bodies are found on the front lawn. 

In the deep freeze of winter, the grey cat named Velvet was found frozen to death - she hadn't made it to shelter in time. She had needed treatment in the summer for a severe eye infection.

Last year, my beloved Harry went on walkabout and never returned.

Shortly after giving birth, Blackie brought one of her kittens to the door because it was ailing. It had a hole in its chest and didn't survive. She mourned him for weeks and neglected its sibling. Another cat mum took on the care and feeding of him. His name is Silky, because his fur feels like cashmere.

The cats in this yard don't kill birds. They're good hunters, but only when it comes to vermin.

They have warm shelters, food and fresh water every day. They are cared for and cherished.

The lost little ones will not be forgotten.

RIP, my friends.

 

__________________

©Ellen Pepper 2023

FRAUGHT

 FRAUGHT

She and He are sitting together on a long olive green sofa in their apartment.
It's late afternoon. August.

She: Do you love me?

He: Oh, here we go. Typical woman. Are you in the mood for a fight? Is it that time of the month?

(Silence)

He: Why do you ask?

She: Because I have no idea how you feel about me.
We've been together for a while but you've never said that you love me.

He: If I loved you, I'd say so. Since I haven't said so, maybe I don't love you.
Does it matter?

She turns her head to look at the sunlight shining on a window across the road.
He looks down at his phone.

She: Why are we living together if you don't love me?

(Silence)

He sighs: Must we discuss this now?

She: Please.

He: Look, we're just roommates. Roommates don't have to love each other, they just have to get along and clean up after themselves.

She: Do most roommates sleep together? Have sex with each other? Visit each others families at holidays?

He: This is not a good time to talk about this.

She: It's essential that we talk about it.

He: Why is that? Really? What do you hope to achieve by cross-examining me?

She turns her head to look at him.

(Silence)

He: Well?! What do you want from me? Have I ever promised you anything? Have I led you on?
I don't need you to love me. It's just not that important.

(Silence. She leans forward to pour herself some tea. The sun gleams on her hair.)

He: I really don't like your attitude. We were having a pleasant Sunday afternoon and you have made it fraught with emotion, as usual. I don't need this in my life.

She: No, you don't need me in your life.

He: That's true. My life is stressful enough without you having some kind of breakdown because of your feelings. I need some peace and quiet and it doesn't look like I'll find it with you.

(Silence)

She: You're right, of course. I hadn't realized that you think this way.
Since you clearly despise me, you should pack up and leave.

By the way, did you kill Elsie? You loathed that cat, and then she disappeared.

He: (getting up and crossing to the window) I have no idea what you're talking about. You must have let her out when you went to work.

She: I see.

(Silence)

He: I mean, if she had jumped out the window, she would have landed on her feet and run away. That's what cats do - they always land on their feet.
 

She: We're 10 floors above the ground.The ledge is too narrow for her to jump from.

He: That's because she was too fat. You fed her too much.

(Silence)

She: I'd appreciate it very much if you could leave; immediately, if possible. Arrange for someone else to pick up your things.

He: I'll leave when I'm good and ready. It make take me a few months to find a place that I like.

She: No, on the contrary, you will leave immediately. Go. Now.

He turns toward her with contempt etched on his face.

He: I will not be ordered around by the likes of you.

She picks up her phone and presses a button.

She: Dad? Can you and the boys come and convince this man to pack his things and leave here right now? All you need is a van because he doesn't have much furniture.
 An hour? Thank you. I'll wait at my door.

(Silence)

He: Please, baby, don't send me away. If I was the kind of man to say I love you, I'd say it, but I just can't.
Don't just toss me out into the street like this. I'll be good. I'll start doing chores and tidy up after myself. I guess that shit matters to you.

 I don't know what I'll do without you, babe. You know I can't live without a woman. If you dump me, I'll have to find another woman right away. You don't want that, do you?

Look, I'll let you go out with your girlfriends once a month. That's if you have any friends left. hahaha

She: You killed Elsie, didn't you?

He: Look, it was an accident, I opened the window and walked away to get coffee and she just jumped right out. It's not my fault.

She walks to the door, opens it, and tells him to grab his things and wait in the hallway for her father and brothers to arrive.

He collects his clothes in garbage bags, and grabs some furniture, and puts it all in the hallway, grumbling and pleading all the while.
________________________________

Dad and her brothers arrive and start loading the elevator.

Dad: Time to go, buddy.

He: Ha ha ha. Women eh? Always on the rag about something. She was never good enough for me anyway - I prefer classy women.

Dad: She's sensible - if she wants you gone, you must deserve to be gone.

She: He killed Elsie, Dad. He admitted it.

Dad: Well now, that's bad luck for you, my dude. People who kill cats eventually kill people. It's murder. Murder is a sin. The wages of sin is death. Says so in the Bible.

She starts to close her apartment door.

Dad: Honey, I'll call to tell you when we're done taking care of this business.

_______________________________________

Entering the elevator to leave...

He: So where are you guys taking me? I have no place to go.

Dad: Don't worry about it. We're going to take you somewhere quiet where you can rest in peace.

The elevator door closes.
___________________________

The van with his body and personal belongings won't be found until the lake dries up in 50 years or so.

________________________________________________________

© Ellen Pepper 2023