Vignettes

Katrina The Fearless Warrior

There’s a stick next to the doors. The kids rush out for recess and race to the park. Cassy grabs the stick. She holds it in the air with both hands. “I am Katrina, the fearless warrior!” And she runs to the playground. She climbs the rock wall, and crawls across the grated steel, before coming to a large yellow slide. Cassy stands on it with the stick again raised. “I am Katrina, the fearless warrior.” A small rock hits her just above her left eyebrow. Laughter emanates from the bottom of the slide. It’s Kyle. Big fat stupid, Kyle. He laughs with two friends behind him who are half his size, and laugh at everything so that he doesn’t squash them like bugs. “You got her good, Kyle,” one of them says, and the other laughs. “Right above the eye.” Cassy can feel blood, and she touches it with the index finger on her left hand. She smiles, and places the bloody finger on her tongue. Taste the blood, for it is nothing to fear. Taste it and taste strength, Katrina. Then she slides down and runs at Kyle with the stick raised above her head. Kyle is the dragon blocking the path to the Wilted Garden, Kyle is evil. She swings the stick, but he grabs it from her hand. He hits her in the nose and pushes her back on the woodchips. Blood flows from her nose, and she sticks her tongue out to taste it. “She’s crazy” the crowd of onlookers says. “This girl is batshit.” Cassy laughs. “No. I am Katrina, the fearless warrior.”

The Burning of the Field

Jacob is 15 years old. His hair is long, greasy and black. It hangs down past his shoulders. He’s with Max and Liam who are smoking cigarettes on a hill overlooking the town. Max bends over, and lights a blade of grass with a zippo lighter. “Dry grass like this, we could set the whole thing on fire.” He laughs and stomps it out. Liam is a gentle giant. He’s over 6 feet tall at 17 years old, and over 250 pounds. But since his old man took off, he’s been timid. The role of man of the house has taken a toll on him. He looks twice his age, and his eyes are tired. “Don’t do that man, Jesus.” And he looks down the hill at a street along the river, with mountains picturesque in the background. Jacob doesn’t know why these guys, who are two years older than him, want to hang out with him but it makes him feel good. It makes him feel special, like Cassy must feel when she’s with him. “Your turn,” Max says to Jacob, handing him the lighter. “Go on, now.” He looks to Liam hoping he’ll say something, but he’s gazing at the water, lost in some kind of trance. Max scares Jacob a little bit, so he grabs the lighter, and puts it to the grass. And as though there were a line of gasoline from the open field to the wooded area, the field erupts in flames. Max looks on horrified, “What the fuck did you do that for?” He yells. Liam is out of his trance and stomping on the flames but the dry August grass is too much. They look on horrified, then Max and Liam take off down Lansdowne and Jacob stares at the flames, tears running down his eyes. He’s wearing a new shirt that his parents got him for the school year, and he takes it off. “Come on, come on,” he screams as he hits the flames with his new shirt. He then sees Max’s Gatorade bottle which is filled with water and he squirts it on the fire. It does nothing. He cries and walks away. His new shirt burnt, his face black from the smoke.

Empty Church

“He wasn’t always like this. He was a good man.” LIz said, then paused. The Holy Cross Church was empty. It was evening and the kids were in bed, and her husband was off somewhere, drinking. Liz came to the church so often, that Pastor James gave her a key, pressed it into her hands, and said, “You pray whenever you need to.” and she did. She sat in the first pew staring up at the empty altar with the crucifixion right behind. Her hands were pressed together, and her eyes were closed tightly. “I’m frightened, Lord. I’m frightened for my children. I’m frightened for myself, and I’m frightened for my husband.” She paused, holding a stifled sob, then continued. “I had a sinful dream last night. Richard came home drunk blaming the world for the crash and throwing bottles at the wall that smashed over our wedding pictures. The frame was cracked. He grabbed me by the throat and then I had a knife in my hand. I drove it into his stomach and he lay sprawled on the carpet floor. Blood formed the cross on his chest. And I woke to his snoring next to me. But that isn’t all. I felt saddened that he was with us. I wanted my husband to die. What does that make me?” She cried and grabbed a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes. From behind her, she heard the voice of Pastor James, “It makes you a mother. It makes you human.” And she turned to see him walking down the aisle. He sat next to her, placing his hand in hers. “You are as pure a soul as there is on this earth, Liz. Don’t curse yourself for being frightened.” He rubbed her hands gently. Liz looked into his eyes. She felt sinful again, but she did not grieve this sin outloud.

Write A Story For Me

Cassy and Jacob shared a room in their small home on St Theresa. Every evening Jacob read stories to her. She loved The Chronicles of Narnia the most. Especially the first three books. He’d read them all to her a dozen times, and also the Harry Potter series, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. One evening, Cassy stared up at the ceiling, and said, “Can you write me a story, Jake?” “Write you a story?” He asked. “Yeah,” she said. “I want one with a brave warrior. Her name can be Katrina. Can you write a story about Katrina, the brave warrior?” “Uh, sure.” Jacob said. “But I’m not Tolkien or C.S Lewis, you know? “I know, you’re better. You’re Jake the wise.” He smiled, but inside his heart ached. He kissed her head and turned off her lamp next to the bed. He kept his on as she slept soundly, her soft snores coming rhythmically. He grabbed his notepad that was under his bed, and slid the pen out of the spirals. Katrina the Brave Warrior, he thought. Then he thought about the last time the old man slapped him across the face. When the field was burning. He hit him square in the nose and it started to flow. Cassy saw it and started to cry. Jacob told her not to worry. He licked the blood from his nose and laughed. “You don’t need to be scared of blood, Cass. Just taste it. It’s nothing to be scared of.” Then he started Cassy’s story. Taste the blood, for it is nothing to fear. Taste it and taste strength, Katrina

Coffee At Sal’s

Sal owned a coffee shop on the east side of town. When the paper mill was running just across the street, business was great. The guys would come in before their shift, at lunch and even when their shift was finished. Back then the paper mill was working shifts 24 hours a day. There were always people in the shop. But now Sal looked out the window at two silo’s in a gravel pit, and missed the way things were. Richard Turse was the only customer. He was working off another bad hangover and flipping through the town paper which was as thin as old Richard’s patience. “They don’t even fucking cover anything in this town anymore.” He said to no one, who usually ended up being Sal because it was only the two of them. “Tell me about it,” Sal said, still looking out the window. “These stories are all from the other side of the goddamn province. Like I give a flying fuck about a fire at a warehouse four hours away. Tell me what’s going on here. Tell me when we’re going to get some jobs. What about the mine? Where did those rumors go?” “I don’t know, Rich.” “You’re getting old, Sal. You used to know things. Now you don’t know much about anything do you?” “I know I still have a job, you fucking gimp bum.” Sal said, and Richard jumped up from the booth and limped toward Sal, grabbing him by the cuff of his shirt. Veins protruded from his neck. “You better fucking watch yourself, Sal. You better fucking watch it.” Twenty years ago, Sal would have broken free in an instant and kicked the living hell out of him. But he was old and tired. Richard had a bad leg, but he was still twenty years younger, and much angrier. “Alright. Alright. I surrender. Jesus.” Richard let go, and hobbled back to the booth. Sal looked at him for a moment, then looked at all the open spaces behind him. This place used to mean something, Sal thought. This was a community. He went back to staring at the silos and never missed the past so much. “You hiring?” Richard asked from behind him, and Sal let out a chuckle. “Does it look like I’m hiring?” Sal looked around the cafe. “Come sit down with your old pal, eh?” Richard said, and Sal sighed. Richard was as crazy as they came. A firecracker with one of the worst tempers he’d ever seen. But when he was working, there was at least some control. Since the accident and the lay-off, he looked dark. His eyes were dangerous, and Sal had heard through the grapevine that things inside the Turse household were far from ideal. He felt bad for the kids, and for poor Liz. But what could he do? “Hey, Sal?” Richard asked. “Yeah, Rich.” “I’m in a bad fucking way, man. If I don’t get some work soon. I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”