Grandmama

The sunlight shining through the tree by the window makes beautiful patterns on the wall. There is only silence in there. Silence and stillness. Every now and then a stir of air makes it past the window, ruffling the curtains as it comes on into the room where it eventually stills down. If you listen very carefully, you can hear it as it makes its way past the old dresser, over and around the bed, and then under the crack of the door. I know this because I can feel the air as it rushes past my knees on this side of the door where I am crouched, peering through the keyhole. Missy forgot to put the key in, and at last I can see what goes on behind the door.
Grandmama is ancient, she must be all of 200 years old, and with skin to match. I bet dinosaurs roamed the earth when she was in high school. I bet she walked with Noah, she's the one who musta tol him that all the animals deserved an equal chance after the flood, spiders included. Grandmama doesn't talk much but she sure does chew that tobacco. You can see it in her eyes that she took no nonsense, back in the day.
I can't see much into the room. Missy's behind is blocking the view. There is a metal tub in the center of the room, and on one side of Missy I can see Grandmama's head. A whispy white hair-fall flowing down the side of that tub. Grandmama sure has hair. Her eyes are closed, and her mouth is partly open. A string of saliva hangs down, and if I turn just so, the sunlight turns it into a thousand polished and cut diamonds just like the one Missy has on her finger from Jake next door. I hear she had to soap her finger just to put it on. Grandmama told me this with her eyes, and in the way she chewed on her tobacco.
Grandmama's eyes are open and I swear she is looking through the keyhole and straight into my soul. For an eternity I stare into those timeless eyes, those eyes that saw the sun when he was but a boy in diapers. I feel I have trespassed into some private ritual, some ceremony which my eyes were not meant to see.
I blink and she is as she was before, head rested on the side of that tub, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. A thousand polished and cut diamonds gleaming from her chin.

What gives?

So I have neglected my blog these past few days. I have gone off into the far off regions (off campus) of the world and I have lost the little that remained of my senses. Aka, my priorities are all wrong. Priorities such as posting. On my blog. Mercy me, is that the time? I like to eat ice-cream...but then, who doesn't? Soon I will be queen. Soon, the blue tailed niblet will roam free, and the song of life will be sung again. I wrote the lyrics, just in case you were wondering, and they are all in haiku form.
Yeah, so I'm typing, so I'm looking at the screen. What gives? Mercy me, is that the time? I like to eat oreos...but then, who doesn't? Soon I will be asleep. Soon, I will dream dreams, and my mind will sing its sleep song. There are no lyrics, just in case you were wondering, just mindless muttering.
Yeah, so I'm leaving, so I'm going away. What gives?

Loans and Elevators

Today was a day like any other. Nothing too disturbing, nothing too fantastic, nothing too vigorous. That is, apart from signing my soul over to the devil.
And by that I mean I signed my college loans for my sophomore year.
Walking to that Financial Aid office was the longest walk in my life. Each step brought me closer to the impending doom of a brobdingnagian loan that will hang over my head for (cross your fingers, please) the 10 years that I am given in which to pay the consequences. The consequences of coming to Brown.
I entered the mocking door into that building. Up elevator one floor, then two. (What are stairs?) Crossed the threshold of destiny, and spoke those words that I will remember for the rest of my life...

"I'm here to sign my Stafford Loans."

A stack of papers, towering over my head. Quivering pen in hand, dry mouth, moist eyes, trembling. Read, add references, sign. Read, add references, sign. With aching hand, and beating heart, I was done. I passed them over, and I tell you I could hear the air conditioning hissing...sold, sold, sold. A smiling response:

"You're all set"

All set indeed.

The sound of no dogs barking.

Silence. Pure and golden. Can you picture a sound free environment? Does it put in you a secret desire to eliminate all objects that cause a change in the resting pressure of the atmosphere? It should. It really, really should. If it doesn't, then there is something seriously wrong, and I'm telling you, my friend, you need to have your head examined. Totally, like, right now. Put down that jelly bean, and make that call. (It could earn you 15 more seconds to live, at the very least).
And what's all the cacophony about, my dears? I need quiet. I need quiet, and I need all the cosmic forces of the universe to be in balance once again. You think I am able to eat juicy fruit in this noise? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Silence, I say.
But then again. Explore with me the delicious treat that is apple sauce. The sweetness, the slightly granular texture, the lovely apple scent...

I am dreaming again.

Someone's in the shower.

One of those days. No class in the morning, work at a leisurely 11 O'Clock, alarm set to ring with a whole half hour to get ready. Alarm went off. Lay in bed for a moment, ensconced in its warmth, gloried in the pleasure that only a class free day can bring. Nonchalantly, stepped out of bed (what's with all the adjectives you say? Shut your pie hole, I respond). Demurely, got ready to take a shower. Resiliently, walked to the door. Opened it. Walked through and across the hall. Put my hand on the doorknob...

locked.

Went back to my room. Paced. Paced. Tried the doorknob. Still locked. Looked at watch. 15 minutes. Paced some more. Made bed. Paced. 10 minutes. Logged onto blog. Wrote three lines. Paced. Then the sound, finally, of silence, where there was sound. Shower off. Door opened. Sound of slippers on floor. Door open, and then close. Rushed in.

Was 7 minutes late for work.