I woke to a lovely morning;
Then my coffee overflowed.
Cut the feathers from a Robin
While the lawn was being mowed.
Broke a tooth while I was brushing
Knots from Lucy’s head;
Twisted ankles; You call kankles…
Fell on the cat and now she’s dead.
Overflowed the toilet; when the cotton balls fell in;
My razor blade went rusty;
Now I’ve infected both my shins;
I grabbed the lighter fluid
Instead of contact drops:
So my eyeballs are a smokin’
I can’t breathe and now I’m chokin’
And I’m wearing trousers for my tops.
I called my boss a moron; he fired me on spot.
My bra strap snapped right off me,
Then my bosoms all but caught
On the clothes pin I was wranglin’
While dropping wet clothes in the mud.
And I ordered salad made of spinach,
From a diner down in Greenwich,
Realizing it was no more than a dairy cow’s old cud.
I took Mama to the Doctors; she’s doing well today.
We’d hoped we’d see more sunshine
Before I lost my way:
Going down a twisted roadside
Against my better will;
I heard her shout;
I swerved about;
Then turned a squirrel into road kill.
I made a bad assumption that today’d be spun of gold;
But I quickly lost the gumption
As it started to unfold:
I saw the shadows of another
Certainly not mine —
And I flipped around;
Stepped on the hound…
Indeed it was a sign.
But did I pay attention to the warnings that I saw?
Was it me or just pretention
To think I lived above the law?
Oh no, I thought I’m special;
The darkness can’t touch me;
So I took a chance;
And tried a dance;
Then broke both of my knees.
…And on that note, have you ever had a bad day: A day that should have been perfect, and didn’t quite make it to the finish line? Have you ever seen trouble come down the pike and in the dizziness of the reality, you managed to see a hazy vision of catastrophe and worse, it had your name on it? I’ve had plenty. More than my share, really… so please sit down with some coffee, and I will share with you a true-story from long ago. I was in eighth grade and my best friend was having a huge graduation celebration out in her family’s barn. It was going to be a special night: the whole graduating class invited. It was the buzz of that spring’s Talent Junior High’s Halls; and we were all just about as excited as a pack of 14 year olds could be. Boys of course, worried they would have to dance with the girls, not giving one lick about how they looked—or that was how it appeared. Aside from being one of Talent’s best times of the year, a time when we were sure to see the perfect midnight-mooned sky; with stars so thick, we could reach up and gather them for crowns or boutonnières; you could bet the air would share its pear-blossom crisp—which always kept our cheeks rouged as love’s true-love rose itself. It would be a fine affair and maybe, just maybe, my boyfriend might kiss me.
The day I found out about this party I was like a bubbling brook at the dinner table: Asking Mama if I could wear lipstick that night; and maybe have a pretty shawl to match a new dress. Money didn’t grow on trees when I was a kid, and I knew I was asking for a lot. But I just happen to be the kind of kid that didn’t ask for a lot in general; I was perfectly happy finding second hand dresses, much to my Mother’s chagrin—so for her to hear this, was as much a treat for her as it was for me.
We headed into town, which was a small city of about fifteen thousand, 7 miles down old highway 99. Mama usually took me to Sears, JC Penneys or Monkey Wards to buy clothes, but this time was different. She pulled right into the parking lot of Lerners. I knew I had arrived. Only my sister, 5 years my senior, went to Lerners. It was a shop for more trendy girls. I could actually feel my toes wiggle in the tips of my shoes, because of the excitement. Though the time it took to shop for this special dress seemed to fly by; I am certain, it was hours for Mama. But she didn’t flinch; she was all about us FINALLY having some girl time where she didn’t have to drag me to buy something new. I will say, the afternoon still hangs in my heart like a shiny ornament. After trying on, well, probably every dress on the rack—I settled with a taffeta floral, gathered at the waist, in pretty pastel colors of pink and sky blue. The skirt of it was supported by a good sized bolt of tulle. I felt like Cinderella. Not a familiar feeling, I might add. Hoping I could have a matching shawl, she told me that wasn’t in the day’s budget, but she had the idea, with all of the tulle, she could cut out one layer and thread a few shiny sequins on it. Sure enough, it was dazzling and Mama was the hero of the day.
The day arrives. We all receive our little certificates on a Friday and we are let out early for the afternoon. I rush home and pull out my dress. Excited, I run to ask Mama about her lipstick. She tells me it’s on the vanity waiting for me and frankly, that sealed the deal: I’m a woman. Two hours later, I find myself standing, dressed, all a-sparkle and waiting for Mr. Sash and Frankie to come and pick me up. Seven sharp, I hear the gravel in the driveway shift and there stands Frankie at the front door: as shiny as I am with a sheepish smile and small wrist corsage in his hand. We were both so excited, we couldn’t speak.
Mr. Sash pulls into the driveway of the old Spencer Barn on Wagner Creek Road. Lights strung in the trees; a big banner to welcome the graduating class. My Mother’s Family Punch Bowl full of pretty pink sherbet punch, sitting on a table with everything from potato chips to meat balls. I couldn’t help but wonder if this how they did it at the Rogue Valley Country Club? Alas, parents start to leave and the music starts. Mr. Spencer starts stoking the big pot-bellied stove to keep us warm; the scent of punch and apple cider fills us up while Frankie and I start to dance. It really was grand for all of us. Most of us brought up together through elementary school: we knew everyone’s family and it was as if we had turned into the swans we had once read about—no longer the awkward-ducklings knocking around together as if were all tom-boys.
It was then, my music stopped. I had stepped over by the pot-bellied stove with Frankie and other friends; and realized I no longer had my shawl on. As I stood and surveyed the dance floor, Frankie lit up like a mad-hoot-owl. I thought he was going to say he’d found it, but no, not even close. Instead I heard in a loud but muffled voice, in slow motion, your dress is smoking! It took me a second to realize what was happening. Well, wouldn’t you know it, I had backed up too close to that old stove and melted out the whole backside of the taffeta from my dress. All you could see, straight down the skirt of it were my legs, and my bottom-end scantily protected by some melted tulle, which thankfully managed to not go up in smoke as well.
Mrs. Spencer brought me a coat to wear and I continued on in the evening. But not without a lump in my throat and some tears. Today, I laugh; my family laughs and Frankie and I still friends, laugh with fond recall. It seems I was meant for this kind of life; my stories are varied and countless. But, another time, I am already at 1,391 words.