By Michelle D. Carr
Mrs. Durkin slowly wheeled her walker down the long hallway toward her private room. She was grateful for the room and that her family could afford to keep her in it. Assisted living facilities, or ALFs, as the staff referred to them, could be costly. She didn't harbor any bad feelings toward her children for placing her in one. The physician recommended it, and, like many others who need assistance, the word “burden” had become the absolute worst description she could imagine. As she entered her room, she passed the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Sometimes it would startle her because she would think, for a split second, that someone was in her room. Then she remembered, no, it was just a mirror. Upon taking a closer look, she would see the image change. She was thirty-five as she caught her image this morning, but as the day wore on she would appear closer to her 78 years. She had gotten used to her wrinkles and sags over the past few years. She even supposed they weren't so terrible. After all, she could still get around, even though she broke her hip last year. That was what she got for believing she could rake up leaves from her front stairs, left slippery, following a rain. She worked hard with the physical therapist to achieve an almost complete return to functioning, but her balance was an issue, hence the walker.
Her daughter had the mirror delivered to her room from her old bedroom in the house she shared with her husband for fifty years. Half a century of images lived in that mirror. Sometimes she would see one and laugh or cry. It was as though this six-foot-high flash drive stored her subconscious, and long-forgotten moments appeared randomly to calm or taunt. A reflection of the two of them enjoying an anniversary dinner or the arrival of her infant daughter during the home delivery brought smiles through bittersweet tears. Sometimes she would see that beloved bedroom in the gold-toned frame and wish, with all her heart, that it would stay. She was disappointed when it faded away, only to reveal that those years were gone forever. “Please don't let it go.” she would say to the mirror. “ Memories are all I have.” The past was her constant companion and distracted her from a bleak future. Mrs. Durkin didn't share the mirror’s ability to show her the past with anyone. “What if they take it away or, for that matter, take me away? “ she thought. The staff would think Mrs.Durkin was hallucinating or becoming demented. She wasn't sure which was worse.
Sometime during her second year at the facility, she developed a fever, and the doctor diagnosed her with a “fever of unknown origin.” This diagnosis was given when the doctors were stumped. They started her on IVs, a full-fluid diet, and bed rest. Nothing seemed to help, and the doctor changed her diagnosis to “failure to thrive.”
Mrs. Durkin was very weak, and the nurses warned her never to attempt to get out of bed without assistance. However, the mirror was calling. She carefully climbed out of bed one night to sit and gaze at the mirror. The images were sad but compelling. She saw herself sitting by her dear Henry’s deathbed, dreading the final separation. “ Will I be with my Henry when I separate from this life?” she wondered. She hoped so.
Molly was the charge nurse the following day. She made her rounds after the morning report and consulted her notes.
“ Patient: Elaine Durkin.
The fever was down by the last rounds at 3:30 A.M. Patient rested comfortably.”
Upon entering the room, Molly was surprised to see the empty bed. “She must be in the bathroom,” she thought. She knocked and waited for a response. None was heard. Thinking that Mrs. Durkin must be taking her long walk down the hall, Molly walked toward the door to leave when she caught an image from the corner of her eye. It was a scene in the mirror. She approached it with disbelief and yet couldn't deny what she was seeing. Strangely beautiful, yet frightening in its detail, it was a youthful Elaine and Henry Durkin lying side by side on their bed as they would have on their wedding night. They were together again.
By Michelle D. Carr
Leah sat on the stone floor, paralyzed with fear as she held her swollen belly. Just ten minutes earlier the guards had noisily marched into the barracks, startling its occupants, awakening them from dreamless sleep. No one seemed surprised. They disentangled from the others sharing their bunks. This was not unusual but it always ended differently. Sometimes they were just marched outside and made to stand in rain or snow. Anyone who collapsed was taken away, never to be seen again. This was a way to screen out the most vulnerable and useless. Those who had more strength would sometimes stand close to one who was weaker, just to give a way to lean long enough to avoid a death sentence. This time was different. The guards seemed almost scared themselves, as if something was about to happen to change their world. Everyone was herded into a large empty room off the crematorium. Most looked around to see if anyone had an answer about their destiny.
She had a moment of hope when she thought it was her husband. She has not seen him for months and had no idea if he was dead or alive. The fear returned tenfold as the image became a woman. Is she smiling at me? No. She is grinning to herself. Leah was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. Even more than when, as a newlywed, she heard the loud, angry knocks on the door of the home in which she and her beloved Job had such dreams in Poland. She had just learned she was expecting their first baby. The two of them spent blessed hours together, imagining a future in which the three of them would grow and love together. At least then, she was not alone.
She sees the woman clearly now. The flames cast a dancing light on the stone walls. She is coming toward her, staring with that look of disgust which has become all too familiar in the camp. There are many voices now. Men could be heard laughing and yelling. Yelling words too horrific to repeat. The fear inside her grows as this woman approaches. Oh, the pain. The pain and the heat. Why is it so hot? What were those flames and what was happening here? She heard a woman scream in agony.
Leah passes out...or awakens from another dream.
| Author Notes | This is the perceived end of the world for the millions who were spared but carried the fear for the rest of their lives. I was blessed to be able to hear the stories of a few who survived and even found meaning in this horrific time in history. I'm sure the same is shared by people group confronted with others who wish to end their world. |
By Michelle D. Carr
Now I understand my unfulfilled desire to own and operate a used bookstore and tea shop. The first home I remember with any clarity was actually my fifth home since my birth and where I lived from the age of seven until my sixteenth year. It was a two-story home with a finished basement apartment and an unfinished attic. Even though there were seven of us, my mother, who was the financial brain of the family, decided to rent the basement to pay the mortgage. This created a need for escape and my safe place was the attic.
Being the oldest, I valued alone time so I found refuge there. One of my parents' actor friends was going on tour and so, as a favor to him, they stored his several boxes of books there. By this time I had come to feel that it was my attic. I don’t remember anyone ever going up there except for me. I liked that!
For several years I spent hours alone with those books. It didn’t matter that they were above my reading level. I read anyway. There were biographies of famous actors and dancers like Maria Tallchief, the prima ballerina and the Broadway greats. It was through those treasure-filled boxes that I was introduced to John Steinbeck and Longfellow.
However, I was not really alone. To me the books were like people. I also had an imaginary friend. He was a quiet and smiling man and he would allow me to serve him imaginary tea and cookies while I talked and he listened. Sometimes I would not speak and we would both just sit and enjoy our imaginary food. In the attic, I found the blending of all that I loved most. Privacy, interesting books, and the nicest imaginary friend for which anyone could hope. When I was very young, I thought that everyone had a friend like this but I never asked anyone because it was private. This was my secret. Little did I know that, as an adult, I would also spend time in quiet contemplation with this same friend. The wonderful thing about this friend is that He is not imaginary, although not visible to my physical eyes. My spiritual eyes discern that He is with me…even when I'm drinking tea and reading books.
By Michelle D. Carr
Something terrible is happening at the Schaefer's. Annie peered out her back kitchen window. She could see her neighbor's backyard and shed. It was the police car with the accompanying ambulance that told her this was serious business. She saw Chuck Paulson, the chief of police, directing the EMTs and made a mental note to ask his wife, Liz, for a full report before tomorrow. The ringing phone startled her. It was Joan. She wasn't surprised to hear Joan’s voice. “I'll be right over.” Joan said and hung up. Joan was also Annie’s best friend. Their weekly morning coffee date was not till tomorrow, but the drama unfolding at the Schaefer's called for an emergency session. In less than five minutes, Joan was walking through the back door and joined her friend in watching the action next door. “ I feel like I'm watching reality television.” said Joan. “Yes”, said Annie, “ but I feel kind of guilty. I would go over to see if Gemma needs anything but maybe later is better.”she added. “ Are you wanting to avoid the police?” Joan asked. “ No”, said Annie. “ I wouldn't want to see Anton.” Joan nodded in agreement.
Anton and Gemma Schaefer moved into their neighborhood just two months ago. Joan had approached Gemma the day after they moved in to welcome her and extend an invitation to join her and Annie for one of their weekly coffee mornings. Gemma thanked her but never took her up on it. Joan didn't believe that her neighbor was anti-social but only shy. She seemed anxious about being approached but was a nice enough woman who kept to herself. Joan meant to try again but didn't want to seem pushy. “She’s like a timid mouse.” Joan told Annie, later that week. Joan also picked up on an accent. She was possibly German. Joan didn't want to ask questions during their first meeting but was curious about Gemma’s life before coming to the U.S. She reported all this to Annie and went on to give her first impression of Anton Schaefer. She had only seen him when he was working in his backyard. "He always looks so grim, even angry…such a contrast to his wife." She explained. She never saw any pets or children so she assumed that they were the only ones living there.
The two women continued to watch the activity at the Schaefer's with curiosity, which changed to horror when the grim-faced EMTs removed two body bags from the backyard shed. The women were silent.
By Michelle D. Carr
"Hold still." commanded Claire, as she adjusted the brown wig and beanie on Tina's little thirty-something head. "This has to look convincing, so don't scratch at it." she said. "What about makeup?" Tina asked, viewing the fine lines around her mouth in the mirror. "No make up. You're ten years old!" Claire said, as she opened the closet and found a pair of ugly oxfords, knee socks, and a green jumper. Tina hated this disguise. Claire refused to pay her fare. Tina was broke so the ten-or-under rides free train was the solution.
As they found their seats, Claire nagged, "Don't act your age. Don't flirt or order wine in the dining car. Keep your mouth shut and open this book on your lap." She said and handed Tina a copy of "The Little Prince".
Just then, the conductor approached for tickets. "How old is your daughter?" he asked with a slightly confused smile. "She's ten." answered Clare. " I keep her out of the sun. She has a skin condition." "That must be very hard for you." observed the conductor. "Yes," Tina blurted out. "Life is a bitch."
| Author Notes | Part of a larger work. |
By Michelle D. Carr
He saw the fat pig with his wife and they weren't having a philosophical discussion about the meaning of nudity. “How could she possibly want this guy?” Danny wondered, with a smirk. OK, he was rich and funny but he was also married so there couldn't be any future in it for her. It's true I haven't been paying attention to her lately. I admit that. The eating competition was coming up in Vegas in three days and the grand prize was a trip to London for two. Didn't she understand that he was doing this for them both? She always complained about the lack of adventure in their lives so he was doing something about it. He loved her and he did not want to lose her. In high school they were known as the golden couple. Yes, Danny and Leah were high school sweethearts who married young and life hasn't exactly turned out the way they had expected.
“I have to do something about this guy,” he thought. But how? He had to keep his cool and not let on about what he saw when he stood outside the window of room 6 at that motel. He felt ashamed of himself for spying and even terrified about what he might see but he had to know the truth. Well, now he knows. He knew what he had to do. But how? What a gift he was handed that evening when he returned home to hear Leah tell him that she “ran into” Jake Morton that afternoon at the super and he told her that he was also a contestant in the Vegas competition. He was stocking up on ground beef for training.
Danny wanted to jump and shout for joy but he just shrugged his shoulders. You see, Danny had already decided to be murderous and now his plan was falling into place. He was also in training for this eating competition, so he settled down to eat six half-pounder hamburgers, an extra large serving of fries and finished off with a half gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. He was determined to be able to have a very healthy appetite for that competition. He also wanted Jake to eat his share. Leah watched him eat with amazement. “How can you do that?" she asked. “ It's necessary, " Danny answered, "if I'm going to win that grand prize I have to be able to eat more than the other ten men in the competition.”
Now that Leah announced that thrilling piece of information, he just had to plan the details. He had three days to do it. Next morning, Danny visited the local gardening center and purchased just a small quantity of organophosphates, explaining to the salesperson that he had to take really extreme action or the pests were going to take over his beautiful garden. Driving home he began to feel a surge of excitement as he planned to rid himself of the biggest, fattest pest he knew.
The evening of the competition finally arrived and after settling Leah in a ringside seat he went backstage to greet his fellow contestants. Then he spotted Jake, joking and laughing with that overconfident demeanor that Danny hated. Jake had no idea what was coming. It was finally time to start and everyone took a seat at the long table on the stage. Danny positioned himself to sit right next to Jake and announced, “ May the best man win”, with a smile.
It was actually easier than Danny thought it would be to distract Jake long enough to get a teaspoon of the pesticide onto his plate. It blended well with the chili. The bell sounded and the eating began. Danny wondered how long it would take for the poison to begin its work. It seemed like forever before, with the fourth plate of food, he noticed that Jake was slouching in his chair and then slowly slid onto the floor. With this there was a symphony of gasps and an uproar in the room from the large audience. “Is there a doctor in the house” was called and sure enough, one appeared and examined the beached whale. Looking up, the doctor slowly shook his head. Jake was gone. The competition ended.
Danny arrived home from work the next evening to find Leah in a very animated conversation with her friend, Ellie, the professional gossip. The group who held the competition decided to award the grand prize to the contestant who had eaten the most plates of food before the premature ending.
The lucky winner was Dennis Monahan. “ And you’ll never guess who he is taking with him to London, " said Ellie.
“Jake Morton’s widow.”
By Michelle D. Carr
While driving on the highway, doing sixty MPH, I felt a sudden hard jerk and white smoke poured out the exhaust. My anxiety soared as I slid off the road. I tried to plan my next step when a face appeared at my window. It was love at first sight.
| Author Notes | True story except for the face at the window. |
By Michelle D. Carr
Dear God,
Words are unnecessary between us and I love that I can write letters out of silence and stillness which you receive before they are even thought and written. You are my constant companion, closer than my breath and never urgent or startling. I thank you for Your gentle anointing felt as a reminder to me, “you can do this, my little sheepdog.”
I remember when you gave me that title, along with the assignment to hear, obey and bring a steady flame to your sheep. I thought it must be someone else You were addressing as I could not believe that this was a possible task for me. But then You showed me, over the years, that You work this in me. It does not come from my strength but from Yours. Forgive me for those times when I try to do the work without You. My human drive sometimes gets in the way.
Now I face a greater trial as a sheepdog. I ask for strength, not because I have to remind You of my need, but to remind myself. Your love is overwhelming in its perfection and there is no life possible without You, Who are love.
I am now crying as I write this. I am not sad. I am in awe.
Do I sign this, “all my love”? It is not enough.
Your Sheepdog.
By Michelle D. Carr
Dolion, the two-toed sloth, came down from his branch of the cecropia tree long enough to gather his breakfast of bird eggs. He was a deceptive guy. He had a fixed smile but ignored his neighbors and lived a solitary life. The truth was, he didn't like anyone. He wasn't ever seen during the day, claiming the sun was bad for his health, but the fact was he was just too lazy to bother with the other animals. A smile was all he could muster.
Mama Meerkat never took her eyes off him when she had her gang outside of the hole they shared near the tree. She wouldn't trust Dolion as far as she could throw him. She made sure her little ones were safe inside before sundown. It was a shame when you couldn't trust your neighbors. Thank God for Buster, the Harpy Eagle. He was a Godsend. He was a complete surprise for Mama. Most Harpies saw meerkats as prey, but Buster agreed to scare Dolion away if he even looked crooked at the little meerkats. He made this promise to the Gardener, who didn't believe in killing. Usually, Harpies wouldn't hesitate to kill a sloth, but the eagle respected the gardener and was his obedient servant. This restraint took willpower on Buster’s part. He had a problem with anyone threatening someone as beautiful as Mama Meerkat. He liked Mama a lot. She had courage. As a couple, these two would never be accepted, so they knew it was an impossible situation as far as any romance was concerned, But they sent each other meaningful looks from a distance. Mama felt a bit of a heart flutter when Buster flew overhead. Sometimes he swooped real low and did a sharp turn around like a jet fighter plane. Mama knew he was showing off for her benefit, which made her happy.
One day, Dolion was careless, thinking that Buster would be sleeping, and he went to the entrance of the meerkat hole. As he sniffed around, Buster launched a surprise attack and picked Dolion up by his back fur. He shook him so hard that Dolion really thought this was the end. But Buster was an eagle of his word and released Dolion as soon as he was convinced he got the message. The sloth tried to complain to the Gardener the next day, but it was pointless. The Gardener knew everything that went on in his garden. He loved all of the garden animals and would never reject any of them or put them out, no matter how badly they behaved, but he was no fool. The Gardener corrected Dolion gently, and when the disobedient sloth repented, forgave him…again. Yes, he forgave seventy times seven.
THE END
By Michelle D. Carr
Whenever I am needing an escape I close my eyes and enter a world where I know I will have perfect peace and fellowship with the companions I love. I imagine the most private space with my friends, the books, surrounding me and who call out, ”choose me, choose me!”. Their clothes are multicolored yet elegant and although worn are perfect in their ageless beauty. Their birth names are unique and wonderful. I can smell their leather coats as I sit near the window looking out on the square. A perfect light and air surrounds me. The frenetic activity of the outside world recedes as I sink into a contemplative state where I could to stay for hours. Others walk down below but like a princess in a tower removed from the humdrum world, I watch and sit in a place where I am in a special place and those small people below are in the ordinary world. When the real world intrudes with the needs of the traumatized, I can close my eyes and sigh. The silent refuge of the library is precious because of them.
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