Monkey Racing

They called it monkey racing. And it was probably fun for those of us who weren’t the monkeys. You’ve got to give Fat Bobby and his backyard bullies credit though – with an intricate network of clothesline, bungee cords, and duct tape, harnesses, and reins were made, the littlest kids were corralled and a game was born.

Fat Bobby hitched me up in his bungee cord contraption and found just the right sized willow whip to keep me in line. Attaching my tether to a beat up red wagon he fished out of the dumpster, he said, “We better win, Monkey.”

I gently pulled at the hair trapped in the harness, trying to free it. “My name is Scotti, you big creep.”

Fat Bobby lashed my back with the willow branch whip and growled. “Did I give you permission to talk, Monkey?”

I clamped my teeth so I wouldn’t cry. If Fat Bobby saw me cry it would be worse for me. And I couldn’t take worse.

Bobby’s three friends – Lowell the troll, Jerk-face Jerry, and Mozer – lined up their monkey wagons at the starting line. I looked at my fellow monkeys, who cried openly and whined. No matter who won or lost, those poor monkeys would have their dinners taken that night, without a peep of protest from any of them. And if they got to sleep through the night without a round of toilet head, they’d be lucky.

I scanned the yard for my new friend Zelda but she wasn’t around. My heart fell — they probably shipped her off to another home. After she knocked Fat Bobby on his ass, they’d been promising payback and I figured they got it. And besides, God just didn’t like me enough to let me keep a friend.

With two fingers, Topher blew a shrill whistle through his gap-toothed mouth. Fat Bobby lashed my head with the willow branch. “Go monkey! Go!”

I bent and pulled, each step an agony of pain and sweat. The sun burned through my scalp and the harness pulled my hair out by the roots. The finish line was only ten feet away, marked with a couple of beat-up trash cans and a sneering crowd, but it might as well been a hundred feet because I could only move the wagon an inch at time. For cripes sakes I was dragging a whale in a wagon and my little kid muscles weren’t up to the task.

Bobby snapped his willow whip, leaving a fresh welt on my arm. “Go monkey, go!”

I pulled and grunted. “You ever hear of cruelty?”

I got another lash for my backtalk. But the other monkeys were worse off — they all cried like big babies and wasted time begging to be freed. Didn’t they know that once a bully’s got you, you belong to them forever?

I screamed. I grunted. I pulled. Inch by inch. The sweat stung my eyes and swiped with my arm. I muttered, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Some day Bobby, you’ll get yours.”

And then a miracle happened. The bungee cord snapped. I shot a backward glance to Bobby — he was too busy lapping up the cheers from his pals to notice. I pulled and the other bungee snapped. One more good yank and I was free.

I ran. I ran as fast as I could. Hoping I could get under the house before they caught me. I heard their big nasty feet pounding behind me. And my breath hard. And my pounding heart. I ran harder. The house was only a few feet away. If I dropped and rolled I could get under the house where they couldn’t get to me.

Bobby grunted and yelled, “Come back here, monkey. Oh you’re gonna pay you little runt. You just wait.”

But Bobby was a fat whale and he couldn’t run worth a shit. I could hear his panting and big clown feet stumbling. Three feet from the house, I had to make my move. I dropped and rolled and got under the house. But before my next breath a big beefy hand got hold of my foot.

“I gotcha monkey!”

I saw Bobby’s sweaty pink face scowling at me under the house. I kicked and screamed, “Let go of me!” But I couldn’t kick him loose and I felt myself being pulled from safety. “Stop, you’re hurting me!”

I threw out my arms for anything to hold onto and came up with handfuls of dirt and dog poop. I kicked harder but he grasped my ankle tighter and it felt like he’d crush it into dust. He had me and he wouldn’t let go and I felt him pulling me out, while I choked on dirt and cobwebs along the way.

He had me by the hair and up against the back of the house, while his pals crowded around, leering and lusting for blood.

Red-faced and greasy with sweat Bobby yelled in my face. “Okay monkey, I tried to warn you. But did you listen?”

I glared at him and braced for the blow.
He smiled back at his pals. “Did she listen?”

“No!” the bad boys answered him.

“And what do we do to monkeys who don’t listen?”

“Punish them!” They chanted and stomped their feet.

Bobby turned his nasty mug back to me and cocked back his arm. “You’re one dead monkey.”

As his fist shot toward my face, I went limp — Bobby stumbled and smashed his fist into the wall. He screeched like a little girl and fell back, releasing my hair and landing me on my butt.

Bobby howled. “Son of a bitch!” His buddies gathered round. “She broke my fucking hand!”

On all fours, I scooted away as fast as I could— while they were distracted with their fallen hero. When I got around the other side of the house I jumped to my feet and ran. I was free. I knew it wasn’t for long but for that moment I still had my face and my arms and legs and I ran. And ran. And ran. And then I ran straight into the house mother.

She grabbed me by the wrist and looked down her pointy nose at me. “What are you doing, Scotti?”

I looked up with wide eyes. “Nothing.”

“So all the noise in the back, got nothing to do with you?”

I shook my head slowly. “No, ma’am.”

She sniffed the air. “You been under the house again? You smell like dog shit.”

I shook my head again. “No, ma’am.”

She dug her fingers into my arms and shook me. “You no what we do to lying little girls round here, don’t you?”

Tears fell and streaked my dirty and poop-stained face. “But Bobby started it. He…”

She grabbed my face with her hand and squeezed. “And now you’re gonna sass me?”

“No, ma’am…but…” She squeezed my face so hard, I struggled to breath. “No, ma’am.”

She let go of my face and wiped her hand on her dress. “And see now my hands stink as bad as you.” I looked up at her with pleading eyes, but said nothing. She narrowed her mean blue eyes at me and said, “You know what comes next now, don’t you?”

My shoulders slumped and I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

I followed her inside the house and to the basement door. I stopped and looked up at her hoping she’d changed her mind but she pointed to the door and I opened it.

As she shoved me into the cubby she said, “Maybe if you go hungry tonight it’ll make you think about the consequences of your actions.” She locked the cubby door and I heard the keys jangle as she put them back in her pocket. “You think Miss Scotti, you think long and hard about what you done.”

I sat on the cold concrete floor and covered my face.

“Oh you big cry baby, cut it out.”

I raised my head and turned toward the voice. “Zelda?”

Zelda scooted next to me and put her arm around my shoulder. “Hey roomie, I was wondering when you’d finally show up.”

Writer Chick

copyright 2015

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Sneak Peek – New Novel

sneak peekHey there.  This is just a quick note.  I have posted the first chapter of my new novel, which I hope to publish in December, here on the blog.  For obvious reasons, the page is password protected.  However, if you’d like to take a sneak peek you can go to my Facebook page to get the login information for the page.

Hope you enjoy it.

Have a great day!

Writer Chick

UPDATE:

Friday, I will be posting Chapter Two of the new book here on the blog.  For those of you interested in reading, go to my facebook page to see the details of how to access the chapter.  Have a good one!

WC

UPDATE:

Chapter Three is now posted to the page.  If you need the password check my Facebook page (see above) for it.  As always, I’d be thrilled to hear your comments and thoughts.

Cheers!

WC

Best – Theme Friday

The best laid plans…I have many. All the time. Every day. Every week. But I keep breaking those promises to myself. Funny because I always keep my word to everyone else, I follow through, I do the do I said I would do. But the promises made to self seem to matter less. As though what others think of me trumps what I think of myself.

You know best…I am beginning to see what you meant in that not so long ago. For as crazy as you are you did know best when it came to the words. Not everyone writes the real but rather an altered reality designed to bring praise and sunshine but without revelation. Yes, the words matter because they are all we have to give. What we leave behind. Slivers of our souls that we part with before we stand naked before God and await judgment.

Hope for the best…I do, really, I do. I lean in close to seek the truth. My nose pressed up against the words that paint the images. Mine and theirs. I look hard but often fail to see. I listen but sometimes miss the notes. And my hope is the gauze that filters the view. Yes, I can see the ugly and the mean – the raw and the hopeless. And yet I hope for the best, hope that gleam on the edges will grow brighter and warmer. And that our glasses are always full.

copyright 2011

Christine’s best and Clancy’s best

Why? – Theme Friday

It was a day of bad – jangled nerves and threatened tears. Too much hurry and what’s the rush? Short, hot tempers. And nothing went right. And the wrong sunk down to my bones and into my blood.

And when the message came I was alone. In a dark night that wept rain, leaving everything slick and oily with grief. And before she answered the phone I knew he was dead. I only called to ask why?

Copyright 2011

Christine wonders why? And Clancy wants to know why?

Everything – Theme Friday

I don’t want to give up everything for love
And I did…
my books and music
my home and friends

And I don’t want anyone to be my everything
because I lost myself that way
and I’m still missing pieces
I’m different now
and different isn’t always good

And I don’t want a life where everything is on the line
Winning big, always the promise
Losing all, always the outcome

I want my everything to be
EveryThing.
Every word
Every smile
Every person
Every friend
to be its own separate, glorious thing
radiating its own energy
sparkling its own ideas and adventures

No more everything that becomes a nothing
no more surrender to have what isn’t mine
no more relinquish to be who I am not
No more gambles on promises that cannot be kept
are never meant
that lets you off on the dark corner of confusion
Fending once again for yourself
whom you’ve lost
because you gave up
Everything.

Copyright 2010

Is everything copacetic with Christine?

How’s everything with Clancy?

Flower in my hair – Theme Friday

I was wearing a flower in my hair the night I fell in love for the first time. I, in my Audrey Hepburn yellow dress and brand new shoes. He, tall and blue-eyed – and oh-so-handsome. Everyone said I looked older than my fourteen years. And maybe I did with my french twisted hair, tucked with a yellow rose – my rouged lips and mascara’d lashes.

The big hall echoed with country songs, mumbles and shuffling feet. And I didn’t know where to put my eyes or rest my hands. What to say or how to act. So shy was I that I was there to watch as everyone else had fun. My hormones wouldn’t let me smile or feel at ease.

But there he was, hand outstretched. Smiling. “Me?” He took my hand and I floated to my feet. My lock-kneed legs followed his lead and I didn’t dare look at him or else I might die on the spot. I kept my flushed face poised to the floor. He talked and I listened. And then the dance ended.

Where did Christine’s flower lead?
What flowers are in Clancy’s hair?

Trapped – Theme Friday

The days have passed but I am still captive
still trapped in the throes of betrayal –
Still swayed by confusion

Mislead by the gods of my desire
I wanted to be loved and
how fortuitous was our reconnection
Enchanted even…

You made the sky brighter
and gave the sun sparkle

making the world
so lovely to be in

Why wouldn’t I give up everything
For the joy of  you?
And I did

But the nearer we came to
the end of the journey
the beginning of the new life we planned
the more miles grew between us
until life was a tunnel
A frigid subterranean path to nowhere

Your eyes spoke ice
and your mouth, kept prisoners your words
Ones you were too cowardly to say
and I was too fearful to hear

And I lived with my dread
of news days
and vacant hours where silence hung
like shadowed specters armed against breach

Trapped in a world
of ancient trees and total strangers
No friends
No money
Nothing to busy hands or mind
And you didn’t help
I was a burden
the poor investment
that you resented
and offered cold shoulder to

And on frequent walks
For secret cigarettes I asked God,
Why does love cut so much?

And I tried and tried but in the end
was utterly defeated by friendly fire
No allies nor weapons to consecrate me

My fairytale dreams died a wailing
silent death and hollowed me
from the inside out until I was empty
And I could be trapped no more

copyright 2010

What trap has Christine been caught in?
Can Clancy be freed from her trap?

Detour – Theme Friday

The sign up ahead on the road heading south cautions, detour.

From three scattered lanes our vehicular alter egos squeeze into one obedient column. We crawl up the single mountain lane – second-gearing behind behemoth 18-wheelers, cursing in hydraulic hisses.

Skimming sheer rock-face of crude red design while shunning the100 foot drop into endless canyon just to the left.

Swallowing the adrenaline that churns fear and impatience, we wind with the curves that forecast unknown treachery.

And the vastness of nature reveals our insignificance – humbles our arrogance in the mumble of prayers that implore God’s hands to nudge us toward safety.

The sharp autumn sun becomes slate shadow, forbidding illumination in our progression and artificial light is a ghostly guide.

When the mountain relents and the road opens again, a communal breath at last escapes. And we break apart like dominoes poorly placed. Now strangers in singular journey, on the same road, but heading in different directions.

copyright 2010

Where has the detour led Christine?
What detour has Clancy encountered?

Once Upon a Time – Theme Friday

Once upon a time a thousand hurts clung to me.
My cloak of pain stooped low my shoulders and endured the weight of velvet yards

In a dream of deep-filled space I floated

And the moonlight sparkled my hurts in magnificent refraction
Revealing the beauty of jealousy, confusion, fear, and sorrow.

Exquisite the dream that showed me the breadth and depth of each with such clarity.

So I could know the five senses of each and watch them shimmer to dissipation of particulate light. Scattering to the stars to find a home.

One by one I set them free until the cape was no more and iridescent wings fluttered in emergence. And the stars grew nearer and fluttering wings sounded around me…

I knew again my own heartbeat and heard the silence of my own thoughts.

And.

I was free.

Copyright 2010

Christine’s and Clancy’s once upon a time…

Symbol – Theme Friday

There are no magic signs
or Autumn season
of the mystery of the cross of Christ 
And the queen of the heavens
offers no place for sleeping angels

A human being can
change or transform her life
and with courage and daring
choose between good and evil
Keep inside
jealousy and sorrow
and know the danger signs
that lead to
a life of
sky obscured
that makes a mirage of the soul
that is not safe for strangers
(Do not take this road
bad tempered people live here
)
We have already been (t)here

Wearing the bright prospect of
faith, hope and love
can be the genesis of
Heaven and happiness
Where creativity and
good fortune
is divine power and
the elixir of life
Here, there are friends
and calm
for ordinary angels

Copyright 2010

Christine is being symbolic

What symbolism strikes Clancy?