While The City Burns…

The city of my birth is burning and my Facebook feed is filled with people who are sharing whether their houses have burned or not as well as information about evacuation centers.

People I have known for decades are homeless now while here in DFW we have been preparing for our yearly snow storm.

The weather app on my iPhone says it feels like 29 and the weatherman says the snow we expected to start this evening will likely not begin until early tomorrow morning.

A tab on my browser has news updates that include pictures and videos of burnt homes and apocalyptic scenes that you expect to see on a big screen like those old 70’s disaster videos.

My mother’s house lost power last night and as of a few hours ago was still out. Two of my sisters seem to be ok and so some concerns are somewhat mitigated.

But I still look in horror at the footage and feel badly that I can’t do more than offer some soft support.

I know at least one friend who is a fireman is out with his crew battling one of the fires and I know of others that are doing other things to help those in need.

While the city burns I wish I could magically send some of the snow and freezing rain to help, but I can’t so I send out warm wishes for whatever good that might do.

The Writers Group

I was a part of a couple of online writing groups for a while. They would give writing prompts and we’d put together pieces we would publish online.

Afterwards the various members would leave comments on our fiction and offer suggestions for how to make improve our work.

I have been trying to pull all those pieces together so I have them in one location. Here is the prompt and my response for one piece from 2011.

Your assignment for this week’s prompt is to write a piece that begins with the line, “I could never have imagined” and ends with the line, “Then the whole world shifted.” We’re going to stick with the 600-word limit this week.

I could never have imagined that one day I would wake up and not have you by my side. It still seems improbable, inconceivable and simply unbelievable. This can’t be real because the Greek tragedies aren’t true stories. They are myths and tales that are man made- not reality.

Yet, here we are living life alone and apart. Separate homes and separate lives. You were the guardian of all my secrets and the woman that I allowed to walk unfettered and unencumbered through my heart. I had every opportunity to treat you like a piece of meat but I didn’t.

It wasn’t because you prevented me from doing so. You gave yourself so willingly to me that I knew I could ask you to do anything and you would. It was part of the magic of our bond. Sometimes I think that you were offended that I didn’t take advantage of the situation. Sometimes I think that you were offended that I didn’t take every moment to ravish your body.

That didn’t happen because I have never seen a woman who is more beautiful than you are. I have never been closer or more intimate with anyone than I was with you. You know this because I told you so but I would like to tell you again. Not by phone, text, email or IM but in person.

The things we did and the experiences we had were real. They were magical and mysterious. They had a depth and purpose that cannot be properly expressed through words alone.

You are the song of my heart. Even now so long after we parted I still hear your melody being played in places too deep to ignore. I can still feel your touch and taste your lips. Your scent is not forgotten nor have I forgotten the grace with which you move.

Remember how I used to stare at you and how I enjoyed just listening to you breathe. Sometimes you would shy away from my look and tell me that I was too intense but you always said it with a smile.

There are so many stories that I could tell and so many memories that I could share with you. I still can’t believe that I have started listening to some of those Barry Manilow songs you used to talk about. Remember how I teased you about his elevator music and said that thirty somethings weren’t old enough to listen to him. You rolled your eyes at me and accused me of having no taste.

Now I find myself quoting his songs and wondering if maybe they foretell a future that is yet unwritten. When he sings about finding the right love at the wrong time I nod my head in frustration and ask why us. When he talks about walks down long rocky beaches and starting a story whose end will have to wait I smile.

Yes, I admit it. I smile because it gives me hope that maybe we’ll find our way back to each other. But sometimes I don’t let that hope inside my head or my heart. Sometimes I stuff it back down into the cage it came from and think of reasons to be angry with you. That anger helps to hide the sadness and makes me forget how much I miss you.

I am just a boy asking a girl for the chance to hold her hand again because I can’t imagine not having you in my life. I’m just a man who remembers a time when he kissed a woman and then the whole world shifted.

I Remember The Fire

I was evacuated from a forest fire in during the summer of 1985. If you want to read a more clinical version than what I’ll share here you can take a look at 1985 Wheeler Fire.

This summer will mark 40 years since the fire but I haven’t ever forgotten the feel of a hot wind, the sounds of the sirens or staring up at the burning hills just above the summer camp I was at.

During the day we could see patches of flame, lots of smoke and of course we noticed the ash that fell down upon us.

We were 16 years-old and preparing to go to Israel for a summer long program. Most of us had been going to camp for years so the week we spent there before leaving was a mixture of nice and ‘get us out of here.’

When the sirens went off at 3 AM I through on a pair of shoes and walked out to the field with the rest of the guys. We watched the girls come down the hill and line up next to us.

I remember busses rolling into camp, one after the other and then watching all of the younger campers get loaded up and sent on their way.

The camp staff included young families who would come up for the summer. The children would do camp stuff and their parents would handle other role, like art instructor, teacher or some other role.

I remember watching those families pile into their cars and drive off.

Soon the only campers left were us, the oldest of all that were there but there were no busses left to take us out.

I remember some of the girls started crying and the questions about whether we were going to be left behind.

They had us start marching up the road towards the camp exit where we eventually were loaded into forestry vehicles.

I can still see the flames on either side of the road and those upon the hill. I still remember looking backwards and wondering if that was the last time we would see camp.

Camp survived and so did all of us.

Sometimes if I am out and there is a hot wind blowing and an accompanying siren you might catch me stop and stare because 40 years ago a moment was seared into memory.

Hubris Is Why Icarus Fell

Sometimes you sit upon the therapist’s couch and address the hard questions in your life about who you are now and who you want to be.

Sometimes you stir up the past and walk out of there head spinning between rage, joy and sadness. Because you realize you are on the verge of having to make the hard choices that no one wants to face but are required for progress.

I told someone I was tired of the arrogance of their ignorance and excoriated them for their lack of compassion.

When I said Hubris is Why Icarus Fell they told me they didn’t have a clue what I was saying and I nodded my head and remained silent.

They were unlikely to ever understand what I was saying and even if they did I wasn’t sure if they had enough compassion to appreciate it.

So I didn’t waste any more breath upon them, there comes a time when you have to walk away from lots of things.

That was how I answered a different question I was asked today. When they said I needed to have an answer to certain questions I nodded and said everything has a lifespan.

And then I sat in the car in silence and contemplated next steps.