relationships

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The Old Man in the Mirror

I was given a word prompt: mirror. The following story simply spilled onto the page.

The old man gazed at himself in the mirror. He inched closer, leaning in at the waist, the bathroom sink his only barrier. He wondered where all the time had gone.

dadAs he analyzed his wrinkled face he began to think about himself years ago. As a youth, he ran on the track team, ran with a smoothness that all the other runners envied. The old man tried to lift his feet quickly, up and down, pretending to run. After two very slow steps, he stopped. Suddenly, his mind wandered back to a time when he was playing on a college football team. Those days are gone, the days when he was able to maneuver his feet so quickly, back and forth, grasping the ball, knowing he’d make a touchdown.

The old man put both hands up to his face, palms flat against each side. And pulled his loose skin back, tight, to see if his younger self would return. It did, as long as he only looked at the top portion of his face. He did indeed look quite a bit younger, which reminded him of his days as a young father. He thought about those days, playing with his children, letting them crawl onto his back so that he could buck them off, as if he were a wild horse.

Again, his memory took a turn to another part of his life. He saw himself running his own business. Making sure each day ran as smoothly as possible. Building an empire. A future for his kids.

The old man let his skin loosen once again, let the wrinkles settle into place, and looked himself right in the eyes. Eyes that have seen many days throughout his long life. Days full of lessons learned, and wisdom shared. The mirror saddens him yet, mostly the mirror reflects the bright wonder in his eyes. His inquisitive, piercing, blue eyes that look as fresh as the day he was born. Bright eyes filled with history.

The old man took a step backward, continuing to gaze at himself. Yes, time has passed. But there is plenty of time left to enjoy himself. One day he will tell his grand-kids the meaning of each natually carved wrinkle and share his stories of life with them.

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x is for xenophile

I am, and have been for as long as I can remember, a xenophile.

I. AM. ATTRACTED. TO. FOREIGN. PEOPLE.

rudy

Specifically.
To.
Rudy.

Mr. Honduras.

A foreigner.

Who was foreign to me.
When we locked eyes.

Long ago.

But not anymore.

He.

With his chocolate skin.
Makes me swoon.
His don’t mess with me dark features.
That can just as easily turn into a happy, feel-good expression.
And the silken accent that flows off his tongue.
Oh, how it weakens my knees!

Yep.
I am a xenophile.

Enamored with Rudy.

by

Bill, My Brother

Repost from August 3, 2011

bill and me

Bill died when he was 19 years old. He was in a car accident while traveling home from Desert Hot Springs, in California, with his best friend and a hitch-hiking passenger.

I was a sixteen year old sophomore. A young girl who seriously idolized her down-to-earth, friendly, always-had-time-for-me, artistically inclined, nice looking, wild-long-blond-haired brother.

I remember as a small child, Bill and I were one of the four youngest kids in our family that took day trips with our parents. Fun times, for sure. It wasn’t until I was in high school, though, that I really began to realize what an impact Bill had on me. Specifically with the way I saw myself and the potential of being someone special.

Insecurity ruled me during those teen years. I was so focused on worrying about how I was perceived by others that I forgot to just have fun. When I was a freshman, Bill was a senior. He warmed my heart, pushed my I’m an awesome person button, simply by acknowledging my presence as he was walking within my vicinity. He would literally stop, his group of friends in tow, approach me, smile, say hi, and hug me before he continued his journey. So simple. Yet, so rewarding. He pumped up my confidence.

When two police officers walked up the drive, onto our unpaved, pebble-filled porch I was lounging on an aging, wooden outdoor chaise. Interesting, I thought. “What did one of my brothers do now?” I asked, jokingly. “Do you know Bill Palmer?” one of them asked me. Or maybe he used his full name, William. I can’t remember. Anyway, my heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, he’s my brother,” I responded quietly. At this point I began wondering if maybe they should be talking to my parents, not me. I was a too-young girl that loved her brother more than he ever knew. “He was in a car accident. He was killed,” the officer stated, without much emotion.

Did I hear right? My heart was beating so fast. I stumbled out of the chair, fell into the house and tried with all my might to scream, to alert my mom and dad that I needed them. “What is it?” my mom asked, or maybe it was my dad standing next to me. I’ve lost that memory. “There are some cops out there, saying Bill died,” I choked out. Their eyes grew wide, yet they seemed confused. I re-opened the front door without a word and pushed them towards the officers.

Life was a blur for quite a while after that. School needed my attention but I couldn’t even stay in my music class, to learn the graduation song for the upcoming graduates. It made me cry. I left the room. My brother, Kit, just watched me leave. I could see in his eyes he was hurting, too. The music teacher didn’t object when I quietly left the classroom, tears gently rolling down my cheeks. I don’t even remember what I did after that. Maybe I just left, walked the mile home. People were very kind, but I was so wrapped up in trying to figure out Why? Why did Bill have to die? that I didn’t let them in to console me.

I lost a very important person, someone who helped form the way I think, the way I am today. Sadly, he never knew. All I can believe is that he watches me, sees I’m doing fine. He’s everywhere. Even in some of the behaviors of my kids, especially in Roberto. He’s in artwork I see framed around my world. He’s in friendships I observe, especially the friend who is extremely charismatic, and in stories I read about brothers caring about sisters, sisters caring for brothers.

Here I sit, thinking about Bill, my brother. I am fortunate to have had someone very special in my life, someone who travels in my thoughts, reminding me to make the most of everything, and to take nothing for granted. Daily, I take the time to slow down, live in the moment, to observe my world, and appreciate the good things.

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The RED Bracelet

red braceletTasha was sitting on her bed twirling the red leather bracelet that was clasped around her left wrist. It was her lucky bracelet. The one she was given as a birthday gift from her grandmother a few years ago. She told Tasha that it was a good-luck charm; that it was magical, making only positive things happen.

Across from Tasha, sitting in her huge overstuffed chair, was Lily, her best friend.

Lily envied Tasha.

She wished she could, just once, borrow Tasha’s lucky bracelet. But, Tasha has admitted to Lily that she never let anyone wear it, for fear of it losing its magic, resulting in something going radically wrong.

Lily completely understood, and would probably feel the same way; yet, knew that somehow she was going to get that bracelet and wear it to her first acting audition, tomorrow afternoon.

Tasha got everything. No matter what she did, it always worked in her favor. When she wanted a certain guy to ask her out, he did. With no effort on her part. When she didn’t bother studying for her final exam in Chemistry, no problem. She wore her bracelet, and passed, top of the class. When she wanted a new car, her parents bought the Mini Cooper she’d been googling. And, therefore, Lily knew that Tasha was going to ace her college interview, in a few days, at Yale, and be offered early admission. No problem.

“Just once,” Lily whispered to herself.
“Hmm?” Tasha questioned.
“Oh. Nothing. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later,” Lily stated.
“Alright. I’ve got to jump in the shower anyway. I’m having dinner with my grandparents tonight. See ya!” she chimed.

Lily closed the front door behind her, and immediately rounded the house, walking towards Tasha’s bedroom window. Just as she peeked in, she saw Tasha close the bathroom door. And, just as she knew Tasha would, the red bracelet had been taken off and now lay on the bedside table. Lily smiled slyly and walked back around to the front entrance and re-entered the house. She could hear the water running in the shower, and hear the hum of the bathroom’s fan. Quietly, and very quickly, Lily sprinted into Tasha’s room, grabbed the good-luck charm, then left, locking the front door behind her.

Later, as Tasha was dressing, her mom knocked on her bedroom door, asking Tasha if she was ready to leave. “Almost,” she answered as she reached down to pick up her red bracelet. She cocked her head to one side, narrowed her eyes, and pursed her lips as her hand stopped midway towards the table. She looked left, onto the floor, then right. Tasha got down on her knees and looked under her bed. But to no avail. Her good-luck charm, her magical bracelet was gone.

“Lily? Did you take my bracelet?” Tasha said into the phone, panicked.
“Your bracelet? No. Weren’t you wearing it when I left?”
“Well, yes. But I took it off when I got in the shower, and now I can’t find it. I just thought maybe…..” she trailed off, thinking, wondering where it could be.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s there. It must be,” Lily reasoned, knowing she’d slip it back into Tasha’s room the following afternoon, after her audition.

“Tasha?! We’ve got to go,” her mother hollered. “We don’t want to keep Grandma and Grandpa waiting.”
“Coming,” she nervously shouted back.

“I’ve got to go. But I feel kind of strange. Like I shouldn’t be going anywhere. That I need the bracelet. Especially tonight. Well, anyway, I will see you later, Lily.”

Lily smirked. She felt guilty; yet, she didn’t care. “See you.”

“Tasha can have one night of something not going her way. And anyway, she’s going to see her grandparents. What positive luck does she need for that?” Lily told herself. “For once, Tasha will envy me, after I get the starring role from tomorrow’s audition!”

Tasha sat in the back seat of her parents car, twisting her wrist where the bracelet should be, when suddenly they were hit head-on by a drunk driver.

The paramedics were trying frantically to maintan life in both Tasha’s parents while she lay dead on the paved road.

by

Roberto William – Happy B-Day

IMG_1062

A moment in time occurred twenty years ago. A moment never forgotten by Rudy. A memory instilled within his soul of days long ago when he used to drop Roberto off at kindergarten.

Their morning started off, as usual, with Rudy helping Roberto dress, and feeding him a hearty breakfast. Something like cold cereal or a PopTart.™

After sitting in the car, cruising along for a mile or so, listening to music and chatting about living the life of a five year old, Rudy would pull the red two-door Honda hatchback up to the curb, next to the chain link fence, and state Okay, Buddy, which was Roberto’s cue to climb out of the car and walk through the kindergarten gate about ten yards away.

Dad don’t leave yet, Roberto cheerfully commanded.

Rudy always waited until Roberto made his way onto the kinder playground then he’d drive off, heading to work for the day. Yet, on that particular day, for the very first time, Roberto made a request, telling Rudy to stay where he was, in the motor-running car. Suddenly, there was Roberto, backpack dropped to the ground in front of his feet, his teeny-tiny fingers entwined through the links of the fence.

I love you, and drive careful! Roberto yelled to him.

From that day on, this endearing ritual found a place in their private world.

And I love you, Bud, Rudy responded, giving Roberto a thumbs-up. Then Roberto would grab his school bag and run off to play.

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A Death in the Family

Rudy was seventeen.
A senior in high school.
Enjoying life.
Having fun with friends.
Dating.
And very much involved in the game of basketball.

That was also the year that Rudy’s dad died.
In a tragic car accident.
Unexpectedly.

Rudy, his parents, and two siblings.
Were living in the small beach town of Tela.
In Honduras.
Enjoying a simple life.

One day.
His father came home.
Stating he’d been offered a job in another city.
7 hours away.

Can I stay here?
Live with Rolando?
His grandpa said it would be fine.
Rudy pleaded with his parents.

After much cajoling.
And discussion.
His parents agreed.
Knowing he’d be in good hands.

One evening.
Several months later.
While watching TV.
Rudy was sadly told.
Your father has suffered in an accident.

That’s all.
Nothing more.

Rudy just sat there.
Quiet.
Not sure what to think.
He walked outside.
In a daze.
Worried.

Out of nowhere.
A family friend suddenly hollered.
Rodolfo.
I can’t believe it!
I saw it on the news!
Your dad died!

Rudy’s eyes grew wide.
His jaw dropped.
His hands fell to his knees.
Legs bent.
Causing him to fall back onto his haunches.
His head fell forward.
Onto outstretched arms.
Splayed across kneecaps.

He was shocked.

He had misunderstood.
What he was originally told.
He thought his dad was seriously injured.

Not dead.

He spent the next hours in a stupor.
Not thinking clearly.
Trying to make sense of what he had been told.
Wondering, if possibly, there had been some kind of mistake.
That it wasn’t his dad that died.

He was rushed home.
To where his mom and siblings were living.
In the town of Tegucicalpa.
7 hours away.

That drive.
In a yellow bus.
Was the longest drive of his life.

A long drive to a funeral.
The unexpected funeral of his father.
Who had died an untimely death.

Within the following few days.
Rudy had to make a heartbreaking decision.
Either return to school or stay with his mom.
To be by her side.
While she grieved the loss of her husband.
His dad.

As hard a decision it was to make.
For a young seventeen year old.
He knew what he needed to do.

I need to go back, Mom.
I need to play ball.
To get my mind off this tragedy.
Of losing Dad.
His heart was breaking.
With every word.
As he told his grieving mother.

She nodded.
Tearfully.
Knew he was right.
He needed to move on.
To live.
To help him heal from the family’s overwhelming sadness.

Back in Tela.
Back at school.
With friends.
Rudy was overwhelmed.
With unwanted attention.
But.
He decided he would simply have to deal with it.

When he walked.
With his head down.
Into the auditorium of his high school.
To watch a game.
Many people held his hand.
Hugged and consoled him.
Saying how sad they were to hear about the loss of his dad.

In the days that followed.
Days that seemed to last forever.
Rudy completed his academic school year as best he could.
Trying to stay focused on his school work.
While working through the grief of losing his dad.
And his constant concern for his mom.

A graduation ceremony was held in the gym.
At the end of his final semester.
Where he played basketball.

All the seniors were expected to attend.
As their last right of passage.
Into the adult world ahead of them.

Rudy didn’t want to attend.
Didn’t see the point.
With his dad having just died.
Only a month before.
He didn’t think he had what it would take.
To celebrate his accomplishments.

His mom, though.
Was persistent.
She begged made him go.
Told him that he needed to close the final chapter.
Of his high school years.
Told him he’d regret it.
If he didn’t attend.

Rudy nodded.
Slowly.
Full of grief.
Said he’d go.
For his mom.

Rudy’s emotions took over.
He cried.
And cried.
That’s all he could do.
Was cry.

rudy:mom:HS grad
After his recognition.
He walked with his mom down the aisle.
As she held on tightly to his arm.
Happy and sad.
Tears of joy for Rudy.
And tears for the death of her spouse.

Rudy could not.
Muster the courage to attend.
The after party,
So, he quietly took a deep breath.
And walked out the door.
Leaving his school days behind him.

Ending one chapter of his life.
Renewing a familiar one.

Being back home with his mom.

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Darn Nugget!!

brad, age 5(ish)

So, there we were, just enjoying a family meal, from none other that the famous McDonald’s fast food chain, when little ‘ol Brad stopped chewing the nugget he so loved, and just stared at us with fear in his eyes.

“Oh, geez!” Roberto stated, realizing Brad was choking. Choking on a quickly-eaten-not-chewed-enough chicken McNugget.

In that instant, we all panicked along with Brad.

But thank goodness for human instincts to react quickly. Roberto grabbed Brad from behind, trying to loosen the nugget, force it out. And then just as quickly I shouted,

“I will do it, move!”

as I nudged Roberto out of the way. I stood behind my wee choking child and firmly, but gently, jerked up my clasped hands, hoping to move that bad, bad piece of meat out of Brad’s airway.

Whoosh! went the nugget, across the floor, where it slid to a stop, maybe three feet away, right in front of Rudy’s nonworkable-casted leg.

I wanted to cry, but didn’t. But Roberto did. A lot. And so did Brad. Both cried out of fear, and relief.

Roberto grabbed and hugged him. And then Brad was passed around, squeezed by all. We wouldn’t let him go. Not for a little while, anyway. Not until we felt it was okay for him to fend for his own well being.

When all was calm, I understood, as I have many times before, that this situation had supplied us with a valuable lesson: life isn’t meant to be taken for granted, or lived full of regrets, rather life should be embraced fully, thoughtfully, and with as much verve as possible.

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furballs

cassandra

skyler

kitties
cats

twins
fraternal

cassandra is dark chocolate brown
and
skyler is layered with a multitude of hues

both have green eyes

cassandra is an extrovert
knocking books off laps
looking for a comfortable place to rest

skyler is an observer
standing back
watching
occasionally
tucking herself in next to those who love her

girls:garageDoor

early in the morning
when the day is beginning
the girls
wait
for the garage door to open
just enough
for them
to peek out
before
spending their day
exploring
the
wonders of the world

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5th grade kids and me

IMG_8314

Dylan, my 5th grade student, compliments me a lot. He thinks I’m smart, nice, caring, fair, and nonjudgemental. He also thinks I’m fun, chill, cool, and fashionable (he absolutely loves my style and the different sneakers I wear). I smile, or maybe I laugh, and  I thank him for his kindness. The other day, he added another compliment, rather randomly, just as I was about to begin a new math lesson.

“Mrs. Romero, you have a great nose,” he said, so matter-of-factly, so no-big-deal. Inside, deep within myself, I laughed. I cracked up. But I held myself. Maintained control.

“My mom told me the same thing,” I commented, matching Dylan’s matter-of-fact demeanor and his no-big-deal attitude. Behind Dylan, I heard Samantha laugh.

“Just like your mom told you,” she said, in a way as if wondering whether I was kidding or not.

“Yep,” I chortled. “Just like my mom told me.” I looked her way and smiled.

Dylan looked back and forth, from me to Samantha and then back to me again. He stared at me, dead in the eye, as if I didn’t understand how truly important his comment was.

“Seriously. Mrs. Romero, you have a great nose!” Samantha and I looked at each other once more and busted out laughing.