Dear Bonnie

[Hank's Story #1]

Dear Bonnie,

I'm writing you now just to let you know how things are going.
The kids are ok.
Jack got himself a place in the Little League - shortstop.
The town chipped in to get him some gear, which was a good thing because God knows I can't afford it. hehe He's pretty good at baseball.

Sandra had a baby. Cousin Ned says he'll be a good daddy to it as soon as he gets out of the army. Sure, she's only 13, but she's always been the responsible one, hasn't she? Her and the baby will be staying by me until Ned comes home and marries her.

Cissie is going through growing pains and is a handful. Doing well in school but when she comes home...well, she's a firecracker, I gotta say. It ain't easy when she gets in a mood and starts smashing things. hehe

Lotta people dying around here. Some from the plague, some from the usual heart attacks and cancer. My friends Billy, Jason and Sam had the cancer - it took them quick. Too young to die.
So many funerals these days. I'm all funeraled out.

Some good news is that I got a job helping out at Grodin's apple farm. Doesn't pay much and it's seasonal, but it's easy work and pays the bills.
Jimmie at the feed store lets me pay on time so the animals are always fed.
Nellie foaled last Spring - didn't know she could still do that. She's old now.

I remember when we met in 5th grade - I thought you were homely and told you so. At first you were so mad. hehe You smacked me hard on the chest.
Then I saw your smile, so sweet that it calls home the angels.
On our wedding day, you tried so hard to be pretty that it made me tear up.
I thought we'd be together forever. I wanted to grow old with you.
You're a good woman, no matter what anyone says.
Sure, we don't see eye-to-eye on the ways of the world, that's normal I guess.

Anyway, my court date is coming up in a month. I won't go to jail this time because Buddy Williams said he's going to fix it with the judge - tell him about the kids needing me and stuff.

Sometimes I get tired, Bonnie. So tired.
Please come home.
Love you forever,
your Hank

 © Ellen Pepper 2022

'65 BUICK ELECTRA 225

by Ellen Pepper

Remember the day you tried to kill me?
  (In your precious '65 Buick Electra 225
with power: steering, windows, seats, locks.
And air conditioning; with automatic transmission.
Proudly rust-free!)

Yeah, it was a beauty. You treasured that car.
And you were going to drive it into the bridge,
with us in it,
just because I said that it was time for me to move on.
You knew that it was inevitable.
I'd told you so many times.

Anyway, I remember how you drove wildly through the streets.
Like a man possessed,
your white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel never faltered.
You shouted that you wouldn't live without me,
(even though you had been doing so for many months.)

I bet you wondered how I could remain so calm
 as we neared the end you had chosen for us.
How I didn't scream, or try to grab the wheel,
or even make an effort to talk you out of it.

All I did was say that you'd break the car.
Something inside your madness must have heard me,
because your foot slammed the brake pedal so suddenly,
that even you were surprised.

And then,
we talked of how it would be,
said our final farewells,
and you drove me home, safely.
We'd laugh about that day now,
if we still knew each other.

 

© Ellen Pepper 2022

GHOSTED

by Ellen Pepper

Well, I guess you're gone now.
No way to know,
 when there's been no word,
other than:
the closet door left open,
the empty hangers,
your guitar collection - missing.

No note on the counter,
a used cup in the sink.
The aching silence of
an abandoned home.

Sometimes people die without notice.
We get accustomed to losing them that way.
It happens, we're told.
Time eases the pain, we're told.
It was for the best, they say.

But when they yet live
and leave without a sound...
the pain never resolves into acceptance.
The living ghost cannot be buried
 and forgotten.

 © Ellen Pepper 2022

TAPESTRY of SILENCE

 by Ellen Pepper

 

Silence is not golden.
Its threads become a tapestry
of anguish
 of confusion
  of uncertainty
   of hurtful memories
      and sullen regret.

Why that family left no forwarding address,
and took no furniture.

Why he departed without saying goodbye.

Why she spoke only with others,
yet you were all unknowing,
 ... until hearing of her lies.

Questions will always remain unanswered -
  a gaping abyss of puzzlement.
To what end?

There, on the wall,
  is the tapestry of unknown,
   unspoken reasons.
It's woven with every silence.

________________________
 © Ellen Pepper 2022
Painting: Blue Silence - Mona Edulesco

Things Unsaid

by Ellen Pepper

There have been some things
that haven't been said.
Due to feigned interest,
  or lack of time,
they haven't been disclosed.

Youthful events, unsaid.
Of romances... unspoken.
Haunted childhoods.
Dreams and wishes,
  unvoiced.

Facts too hard to bear...
  kept quiet.

The silence will persist
until questions are asked
  and answered.

Where is the curiosity about a life story?
Where the desire to know more -
to know everything.

Things that happened
  shape the being that you behold.
There are some things
  that you should know.
______________________________
Copyright © Ellen Pepper 2022

SOME PLACES

 by Ellen Pepper

 

Some places are just bad luck.

The family mansion with two addresses,
facing north and east,
 with a wide veranda,
  a double set of French doors leading out to it.
The secret room that reeked of despair and horrendous events,
The rust-stained wooden floors in there.
Some places are just bad luck.

An elderly sailor named Fred living in the room
beside the step-up bathroom that had two doors,
 one at either end.
Emphysema got him.
Crows, seen from the window over the tub,
 carrion-gorging upon the roof.
Some places are just bad luck.

The old lady named Olive who had a room and a kitchen on the ground floor.
She died in a fire there one year.
The entire house was destroyed and demolished.
A casino is there now.
Some places are just bad luck.

The ancient horse chestnut tree in front of the newer house on the east side.
A kid hanged himself there.
Some places are just bad luck.

The large, malodorous woman in the basement of the older site,
with her tiny, sickly daughter.
Baby was left alone too many times.
The infant died of neglect and starvation.
Some places are just bad luck.

The 50,000 dollars in Prohibition currency
found in the cellar's hidden speakeasy
after the big fire.
It went to the tax man.
Some places are just bad luck.

The drunken father who impregnated two of his teenage daughters,
one of whom was later murdered while hooking,
stoned on heroin in Detroit.
Some places are just bad luck.

Enough...

Some places are just bad luck.

_________________________________________

Copyright © Ellen Pepper 2022

Green Water

 by Ellen Pepper

 

Heed those happy times
we joy-walked beside the sea
at sunrise, laughing.

 

 © Ellen Pepper 2022

Just a Violet Vignette

by Ellen Pepper

 

Understandably anxious,

the gaudy, aged fortune teller with a tatty blonde wig

and garish red lipstick

gathers up her bag of magics and mysteries,

and boards the south-bound train.

In her mind, she's going to Byron to meet a man with mad skills.

In truth, her appointment is with Fate.

At Queen Street Station,

a burly man with bruised knuckles and grimy overalls

undertakes a devious ploy to rob a wizened woman

of a seat.

With her keen eyes, our Lady of the Night sees this

and reaches into her bag of talismans,

pulls from it a bent twig

and,with strong intent,

waves it in his general direction.

The man, jostled by the crowd,

falls to his knees with a deadly grimace

and dies.

Shocked onlookers at first gather around the corpse,

then part as the train enters the station.

Many dash off to catch their connections.

Our Lady stays in place,

mumbling about the strangeness of Time.

At Union Station, she disembarks,

crosses the platform,

and boards the train that would return her to her home -

a tent under the Gardiner Expressway.

Her name is Violet.

She once owned a bridal wear shop in Yorkville.

Copyright © Ellen Pepper 2022

THE ACCORDION PLAYER

 by Ellen Pepper

 

The accordion player came to visit last night.

He was standing outside my window when I got out of bed.

It was a lemony sunlight kind of Spring day.

His expression was melancholy. He looked much older.

I asked him what he wanted.

He said he missed me.

I told him that he had to leave -

that we weren't married anymore.

He wanted to be invited inside.

I refused.

He insisted.

Again, I refused.

He came closer to the window and I told him to go away...

because he was dead.

"Why do you think I'm dead?" he asked.

I told him that he was standing in mid-air,

outside a second floor window,

that he'd been dead and buried these 18 years,

and that this was just a dream.

 

© Ellen Pepper 2022

 

REBECCA

 by Ellen Pepper

See that girl?

That girl, there.

With her sparkly pink tutu and worn ballet slippers;

faithfully executing her pliés and grands jeté every day,

because she wants to be a ballerina

when she grows up.

She's the girl who always carries a notepad

and a thick book to read at spare moments

because she also wants to become a novelist,

when she grows up.

That girl practises on her piano daily

because she wants to compose music for ballet,

that she'll dance to

when she grows up.

That girl is working hard to create a fulfilling life,

for when she grows up.

That girl is deeply loved.

That's the girl you see now,

bleeding and dying

on the icy tiles of her classroom floor

beside her mutilated and slain friends,

because someone came in with a gun

who had different plans for her,

her teacher,

and her classmates.

And there was no good guy with a gun to stop him.

Her name was Rebecca.

She was 10 years old.

© Ellen Pepper 2022