Near 500 words: TW and the three phases of his life

TW (aka The Writer) divided his life into three phases: Before Cat, With Cat, After Cat. After Cat began when the vet, Dr. Helen Hatch, sat down beside him in the waiting room of the vet hospital.

Helen reached over and took TW’s hand, then she softly said, “I’m sorry.”

A pain shot through his body. He knew her next words. “Cat is dead.”

TW couldn’t breath. He passed out.

He woke up to see Helen kneeling over him, smelling salts in her hand. Her eyes had concern in them.

“Lorenzo, he’s awake. Help me get him off the floor.”

A tall Hispanic man reached down and lifted TW up and into a chair.

“Are you okay?” Helen asked.

TW nodded his head.

Helen nodded to Lorenzo that she’d take care of things. Lorenzo went back to the receptionist’s desk.

Helen knelt before TW. “I know how much you loved Cat, and how much Cat loved you. I am so sorry.”

Then she took her seat beside him. She rubbed his arm with her hand, trying her best to comfort him. “When you brought her in, I thought we might be able to do something. She’d already lost way too much blood.”

TW nodded his head, letting her know he understood.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I got home. The door was unlocked. Cat had left the house. She wouldn’t do that. Even if the door was wide open, she’d have stayed inside.”

Helen let go of his arm and leaned back in her chair.

“I don’t know,” he said, “what would have made her leave the house.”

“Has anything happened recently to make Cat think the house was unsafe?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Was she in any kind of danger that you know of?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

The hospital was quiet, except for two dogs barking in the background. TW and the vet sat side by side, looking at the back space of a wall across from them.

After five minutes or so, Helen broke the silence. “I’m sorry I misled you. I thought you understood we were just friends.”

“It was me, not you. I fooled myself.”

“How have you been?”

“The usual. The library keeps me busy. And Cat, of course.”

Then it hit him again. There was no more Cat. He swallowed hard.

“Do you need some water?”

“Yes, please.”

Helen stood up and went over to the water cooler and filled a paper cup with water. She handed the cup to TW, then sat back down beside him. The water went down cold and cleared his throat.

Recovered, he remembered what he had heard about Helen. “I heard you lost your baby?”

“About a year ago.”

“Are you okay?”

“Frank didn’t take it well. It was a boy. We have two girls, and he was so hoping. He fell apart. Now we’re getting a divorce.”

TW saw the tears running down her cheeks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

The room was quiet again.

Helen wiped the tears from her face, then passed the handkerchief back to him. Her face went back to vet’s face.

“There’s more to Cat’s death. Where Cat was bleeding, there was a small wound. Cat was sliced by a razor blade.”

Advertisements

Syria Song

A lyric for all the victims of the Syrian Civil War

In the history of the world
how could we expect boy or girl
slammed against a prison wall
and raped till they could not crawl.
A dozen men stand in line
to take a turn at their crime.
The victims’ blood on the brick,
their deaths were slow, never quick.

Was this Guernica?
Was this Hiroshima?
Hi ho, hi ho, It was Aleppo.
Hi, hi, ho.

In the history of the world
how could we expect boy or girl
to breathe air of toxic gas
’til they breathed their very last
when the bombs came crashing down
rattling streets with warlike sounds.
Terror, a name given that place,
a town left without a face.

Was this Guernica?
Was this Hiroshima?
Hi ho, hi ho, It was Aleppo.
Hi, hi, ho.

Bridge:
Oh, Mary. Oh, Mary,
hear your children cry.

In the history of the world
how could we expect boy or girl,
on the streets all rag and bone
with no place to call a home.
Children are now on the run
unwanted, met by the gun,
just another child of God
that the world has left to rot.

Was this Guernica?
Was this Hiroshima?
Hi ho, hi ho, It was Aleppo.
Hi, hi, ho.

Uncle Bardie’s Movie Spotlight: Not your typical dysfunctional family

Once a week on Friday, Uncle Bardie celebrates the creativity in others by shining a Spotlight on a movie or a creator. This week’s Spotlight Creator is “The Hollars” (2016):

First off, “The Hollars” is not another blockbuster out to break the latest blockbuster records. But it’s even better. It’s a small film that took only three million to make. In today’s movie budgets, that’s loose change. It would even cover Iron Man’s wardrobe.

The Holars are not just another dysfunctional family. They’re dysfunctional in a way that takes the cliche out of dysfunctional. They’ve got the same kind of charm I found in the Southern family of “Crimes of the Heart” or “Home for the Holidays”.

Sally Hollar has been married to Don Hollar (Richard Jenkins) for thirty-eight years. She has two sons. Don is a small business owner whose business is going bottom upsky. Her son, Ron (Sharito Copley), is living at home because he lost his job. He’s divorced because he wanted to be divorced. Now he’s missing his kids and wants his marriage back. His ex-wife is seeing a youth pastor (Josh Groban). And her son, John (John Krasinski), is off in New York City, trying to make it as a graphic artist. He lives with his pregnant girlfriend (Anna Kendrick).

Then Mom has a seizure in the bathroom one morning.  And she is the glue that holds the family together with her love, her honesty and her sense of humor. But now she is not going to be the one to hold the family.

Filled with a solid cast of wonderful character actors, “The Hollars” is well worth seeing. It’s a movie that made me smile. And kudos go to Anna Kendrick. This is the second off-beat movie I’ve seen her in recently. The second was “Table 19”. And she is making quite an impact as a character actor.

Poem for the day: Lonely

It’s been a bit of time since I have posted a Poem for the Day. So here’s a poem I just finished over the last few days:

Lonely

Lonely stands in the shadows
‘tween dusk and the dawn
Lonely is a shade of gray

Midnight and an apple drops
One a.m. a meteor streaks the sky
Two in the morning a newborn laughs

Three a.m. is three a.m.
and Lonely cannot sleep
Soon there’ll be another sunrise

Just no not yet

micropoem for the day: birds in the back yard

On any particular day this early in the year, all I have to do is go and sit on my back porch. The birds do a good job of entertainment. Maybe I should call my back yard Entertainment Central. On any particular day, I never know what I’ll get. It could be vultures or hawks making their rounds above my house, looking for food. Or it could be a robin making for the bird bath. I just never know.

doves, blue jays, robins,
a woodpecker or two
a back yard community