Monday, March 19, 2012

Monday Moods

image courtesy of Pulau Tioman


  1. Oh the variety!
    In such a short time, so abrupt and unexpected.
    From squeals of delight
    to tears of sheer anguish.
    Unbridled declarations of affection,
    then piercing attacks of provocation.
    Harmoniously delightful and heartbreaking.
    But we embrace the volatility.
    How can one not be caught up in the effervescence that is her?


    AH! The sea beckons.

    Making my passage across the straight to the mainland. A small sampling of what my life will offer as I stake claim to the fates that await me.

    I have dreamed of such things for many a year, for the allure of this serene blue-green lady draws my passion. I have fashioned these desires upon the tales brought to bear by the seafarers to which I have been introduced. Indeed, Father walked the boards, as did Grandfather.

    I have read many tomes offering a glimpse of the mysteries of the deep. Great serpents bearing a destructive vent. Tentacled behemoths reeking havoc upon unsuspecting ships, spelling death or lesser strains of hardship. Fantastic stories of chanteuse sirens; mermaids mesmerizing sailors drawing them to the damage inflicted by the rocks below.

    Ah, but alas, I can only imagine such adventure! Wild retellings have presumed to take on a life that they alone can possess. At best I will serve my time with honor aboard my sturdy sailing ship at sea.

    But, there is one story that has enticed more than most. The legend portends a great albino monster, which as of this recounting no man has tamed.

    I see her docked in her slip, towering other ships and casting an ominous shadow upon the waters. And I disembark this dingy to surround myself in her timber. For it is time now to board my gentle vessel on this pristine morning. I have a cursory knowledge of her captain. Fair Pequod, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.

    Call me Ishmael.

  3. She carried moods in a pink backpack, sold them for $5.00 a pop. I’d seen her at the corner of Main and 4th for the last month, her purple hair pulled back in a bun. She always wore tight jeans with red suspenders and knee socks. The sign said, “I’ve got the mood for you,” and most days when I walked home from work, a bevy of men clad in business suits, scrubs and plain clothes surrounded her like seagulls behind a ferry trying to grab the next bread crumb tossed in the air. Whenever I walked by she always looked up and smiled. I’d look away and hurry on.

    One day I decided to stop. It had been a particularly bad day. If anything could go wrong, it did. Sue and I had argued before the kids had left for the bus, which by the looks on their faces, had devastated them. Then at work, I missed an important meeting because I was late. I had to work through lunch to make it up. I was hungry, tired and mad. I needed a lift.

    The lady gave me her normal smile.

    “What’ll you have today? It looks like you could use some happiness. I have just the thing for you,” she said in a high-pitched animated squeak.

    I was curious so I pulled out a five.

    “Perfect. I’ll take some, or it, or whatever the hell this is you’re selling,” I said.

    She reached in her pink backpack and pulled out a yellow happy face squeeze ball. Then she giggled. I’d never heard another person laugh like that. She laughed and laughed. Before I knew it, I was laughing, too.

    “Now you keep this in your pocket and whenever you get agitated, squeeze it. You’ll be happy in no time.”

    I left with the ball. As soon as I got far enough away, I reached into my pocket and squeezed the ball. Her laughter resonated through the air. I smiled.

  4. Going Home

    She hadn’t been home in twenty years –
    She heard time and distance would heal all wounds but really they just made it easier to ignore. Easier to lock the hurts in a mental lockbox and throw the key amongst the couch cushions.

    She was extremely pensive as she took the ferry across to the island. She sipped her tea, watching the island move closer as the beat of the waves against the ferry’s hull made each year slip away – one by one. Until, she found herself holding the key on the threshold of her mental lockbox.

    She stood there, frozen in her mind, key in hand – debating. She slowly slipped the key into her pocket and her hand came back out with a shovel. She set her lockbox down and began to dig. She buried her mental lockbox and with a sigh she sipped her tea.

    She was going home to bury her last family member. Do her duty. Burying her mental lockbox had lifted a weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying. Those memory shackles slipped pass the hull of the ferry, leaving a gentle trail of white flotsam behind her. She was going home.

  5. This is beautiful writing, Michelle... and thanks.