Wonder Woman In Training

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High school senior, Kate, is on her own for the first time in her life with no one to take care of but herself. Even across several hundred miles, her family crushes her independence and reminds her just how connected she is to a life she wishes she could change.

Voices Unheard

We’re not listening, there is
no ‘new’ way
no ‘new’ cause
no ‘new’ reason
it’s the same as it ever was

Too late, we feel it
tragic loss
incomprehensible loss
senseless loss

A glimpse, wasted now, at the
unknowable pain
fractured heart
pleading soul

Messages clear but unanswerable
changes unable to be made
the softness of your voice

You’re Not Happy

What does it mean
When someone tells you
You’re not happy?

Don’t tell me
What I am.
You’re projecting

I’m not happy?
I’m fine.
I am working
For what I need.

Perhaps you’re better off
Considering yourself
Instead of others
You can’t say who is happy
when you don’t
know what drives them.

You can only speak for yourself.
Your own experiences.
Your own truth.

Be honest.
Figure out your
Own shit

Instead of distracting
With me.

Try To Name It


It’s easy to be angry
But also a waste if
The heart of it all
Goes unnamed and

Vehement cries deny
This is all anger
Nothing else

When you’re done
Nothing’s changed

Try to name it
What’s going on
In your head?
Your Body

Chest compressed
Jaws clenched
Breath too fast
Hands balled into fists

Try – Disappointment?
Try Again – Waste?
Try Again – boredom?

Name what it is
To be
Sick of waiting
Expectations too high
Life isn’t as hard
As we make it
Take care

Did you see the stars?
That bird?
Feel, hear, see

It’s all here,
You should be

Boundaries Chapter One


Chapter One

“Mom, come on, we’re going to be late.” I’m standing in my mom’s dining room waiting for her again. I’ve been ready to go for over an hour and I tried not saying anything to see if she could just get ready without me telling her to, but clearly she can’t. My bag is digging into my shoulder and I’m starting to lose my patience.

“Where’s my purse?” my mom asks.

“Where you put it!”  I yell.

“I can’t remember.”  My mom stands frozen, arms dangling at her side.  She looks helpless, like a giant kid.

“Mom, I don’t know either, look around. Honestly.  This place is such a mess; it blends in with all the other crap.  It could be anywhere.”

My mom looks into my eyes from across the room.  She doesn’t really move, she just reaches out at things and nudges them. She lifts a couple of shirts off the couch and slides the bag of apples against the wall with her bare foot.  She’s still looking at me when she says, “I need my shoes.”

“Okay.”  I raise my eyebrows and pretend it was just a statement then I pick up her car keys and start jingling them.

“I can’t find them.” She says to me.

“Mom, we need to go.”

“All right, just a minute.  I need coffee.”

“We don’t have time for coffee. I don’t want to be late!”  I drop my bag on the dining room table and lift a stack of papers off the floor. One of my mom’s folding chairs stands open nearby so I dump them there. The shoes are right there, under the papers. Where else would they be? I shake my head and toss them toward my mom’s feet. They bounce a couple of times and lay there. She doesn’t say anything for a second.

“Make me coffee,” she says as she slips the shoes on.

“Make your own coffee,” I grumble, but I walk into the kitchen anyway. If I don’t make the coffee, we’ll end up standing here forever. I find a clean mug and pour hot coffee into it. Steam rises up in front of my face and moisture collects on my eyelashes. Blinking it away, I take the hot mug out to Mom in the hall.  “Here,” I say and push it into her open hands.

She looks down into her mug and back up at me. “There’s not enough creamer,” she says.

“There’s plenty.  Why don’t you have any travel mugs?”

“I need more creamer.”  My mom sips the coffee and grimaces.  She leans far to the side to set the coffee on the coffee table.

“Too bad.”  I start tapping my toes and wait for all of two seconds before walking back into the kitchen to retrieve the creamer.  “Here,” I say.

My mom pours creamer into the cup turning the coffee an off-white color. It’s way too much.

“Mom, that’s a lot.”

“Here ya go,” she says, holding the container out to me. I grab it and watch her slip her shoes back off. “I’ll be right back,” she says.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but my mom doesn’t answer. She walks away from me. And I watch her as she lumbers down the hallway. I hear the squeaking of metal and recognize it immediately as the shower faucet being turned on. The sound of rushing water follows and then, the slam of the shower door.

My mouth drops open. I hear my mother calling out that she wants me to bring here a warm towel from the dryer. I shake my head. I can’t believe it. What the hell is she thinking?

“Oh my god, Mom!  We are going to be so late!  I hate being late!”

* * *

“See?  We made it.”  Mom hits the blinker to turn left at the intersection.

“We are two blocks away, we still need to park, and we’re twenty minutes late.  We didn’t make it.”

Mom doesn’t respond, but as we near the parking lot the car slows before coming to a complete stop.  I look up from my phone and see that Mom isn’t turning into the parking lot. She’s sitting there in the middle of the street blocking the entrance, not moving. I look at her to see what’s wrong and notice she staring out the windshield barely blinking. “Mom?” I say and follow her gaze out the window at through the next intersection. Oh, I see it now. There’s a damn coffee shop, a little café just beyond the light.

“Do we have time to get a mocha?” Mom asks as cars blare their horns behind us.

I sit up and turn in my seat to assess the situation.  “No, we don’t.  Just pull in and park.  You’re keeping everyone from parking.  Besides!  We’re late.  I should have been here first!  It’s my award.”

“Yes, all right.”  Mom steps on the gas and I relax just a little. Of course, I think she’s turning. She isn’t. She speeds passed the parking lot entrance and runs the red light. “We’ll grab a mocha and a treat to celebrate and then get over there.”

“God, Mom!  Just hurry up!”  I slam back in the passenger seat and fold my arms over my chest. There’s no controlling her.

Mom pulls into the first available parking spot and hold out a twenty. “Here,” she says. “Get me a mocha, a big one, and something for yourself.  Oh and maybe some biscotti.”  A big stupid smile spreads across her face. Seriously? Does she think she’s doing me a favor?

“You want me to go in?” I ask. “I don’t even want anything.  This was your idea.  You go in.”

“But I’m so slow making a decision.”  Mom frowns.  “Don’t you want to get over there?  You’re already so late.”

I grab the twenty from her hand and wrench the passenger door open.  I let it slam shut as I run into the café. It smells so good in here and I’m kind of glad we stopped. I order all I can and pocket the change.  I shoulder the door open and approach the car. Mom’s in there reading, of course. She’s hunching over totally engrossed.   I’m certain it’s a romance. That’s all she reads. She runs off to the world she doesn’t have and leaves me to get her coffee. I shake my head and tap on the driver side window with my knuckles. “Here,” I say as the window rolls down.  My mom drops the book in her lap and reaches for her treats. I hand the biscotti and mocha to here.

“Where’s yours?”  She frowns.

“I have to run back in and get it.  They don’t have carrying trays.”  I thumb over my shoulder before turning back to the little shop.

“Well, hurry up, Kate.” I hear her call.  “We’re really cutting it close.”

“Right.  Be right back.” I say. Like I don’t know that already. Still I hustle in and back out with my hands so full I’ve got to hook open the passenger door with my pinky finger. I set my stuff down on the floor before hopping in.

“Ooo, what’d you get?”  Mom eyes my paper bag.

“Just a scone,” I answer and shrug.

“Any change?” she asks.

“Nope.”  I say as I pull the strap of the seat belt across my shoulder and click it in.  “Let’s go.”

* * *

My face is on fire. So much heat is rushing up my neck; it’s burning the tips of my ears. I can feel sweat running down the small of my back. I just know I’m beet red. I always change colors when I’m like this. Nervous. Late. God, I hate it. “Everyone is staring.”  I whisper to my mom’s back.

She’s walking just in front of me toward our table. She turns slightly as she scoots between to tables and says, “Only because you’re so pretty.”  Then she slides into her chair. I roll my eyes at this.

“Only because we’re so late, Mom.”  I correct her.  “You know I can’t stand it.”  I sit in the next empty seat and set my coffee on the table next to the water glass. I take a deep breath and let it out slow. All right, so not everyone is staring. Maybe Mom is right. I glance at her and smile and then notice her hands are empty. She’s being very attentive and listening to the speaker go on about how talented the young women in the room are, but she doesn’t have her biscotti or her coffee.  “Mom?”  I hiss.  “Where’s your coffee?”

“Oh, I left it in the car,” she whispers.  “I didn’t want people to think we were late because I stopped to get coffee.”

My stomach tightens.  “But I brought in my coffee!”

“It’s okay, you’re getting the award.”

“Mom.”  My voice drops dangerously low.  “It looks like we’re late because I wanted coffee.  And I didn’t.”

“Then why did you get some?” she asks furrowing her brow at me like I’m crazy.

The ringing in my ears starts to push out all other sounds and I can feel the heat returning. I must be holding my breath because my vision clouds and I’m certain I’m going to pass out.  “Because we were already there.  Because you wanted a coffee.  You skipped the parking lot.  You made me go in.”

“If you didn’t want to go, you should have said so.”   Mom snaps.

“I did say so, Mom.”  I growl out the last word and then everyone is clapping.  I pull my eyes away from Mom and look around the room.  People are smiling at me and nodding their approval. Shit, I didn’t even hear what the speaker said.

Now Mom begins clapping. “Well, go on.”  She says through smiling gritted teeth.

I take in a deep breath and exhale with slow deliberation, looking away from my mother.  I didn’t hear what was going on. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’m looking around like an idiot. The other mom’s and award recipients are starting to giggle.  They probably think I’m just too excited to move.  I’m not. I would have been, if we didn’t stop for coffee, if my mom wasn’t arguing with me, if she wasn’t making me look like an idiot. But we did, she is, and I do. I’m too pissed to puzzle out what I need to do. So, I just sit in my chair, bright red, and grinning.

The spokesperson clears her throat.  “Just up here, Kate,” she says. She nods encouragement at me and I begin to move. I keep my eyes locked on the podium and zigzag up between the tables toward the front.

Lost To Us

A window

A screen

A light on inside

You sitting at the table

You reading a book

A door

A knocker

A light on inside

You tiptoeing

You crouching

A sliding glass door

A screen

A light on inside

You on the couch

back with your book

A forehead resting on the wall

A sob

A light on inside

You blank

Not answering

Lost for good.

Set up

Seventh Graders will often use the wrong facial expression / voice inflection / emotion when expressing themselves.  When it seems that they should sound happy or sad, they do not.  Or, perhaps, they should sound worried or concerned but they are expressionless.  This is just something I have noticed while teaching.  Please consider the following:

Last year, one of my students asked if they could talk to the class briefly about a missing family member (we’ll say a cousin, to ensure some ambiguity) and show a flier.  Concerned, I agreed to a brief announcement before we started class.  This student quiet by nature, somberly said that a cousin was missing, when they were last seen and held up the flier.  Everyone in the class was interested and had what seemed to be the accepted nonchalance that accompanies 7th grade transitions.  I took the flier, asked some follow up questions (gone missing before? etc.) and assumed the worst.  That’s just me.

A couple of weeks pass, we are well into our studies on Cells and just before I pass out the assignment, Student announces in a bright cheery voice, “Hey!  They found my cousin!”  Smiles all around!  Sounds of relief trickle through the room.  “Wonderful,” I say, smiling back and making full eye contact to make sure I am understanding correctly, “And they’re all right?”  “Oh, no.  She’s dead.”  My face falls, the entire class is struck dumb.  Shoulders sagging, I have no idea what to say.  I try to apologize for their loss, that sort of thing and ask if Student’s family is all right, if Student needs to go talk to someone.  Trying to stop my spinning mind, trying to seize what would be the appropriate response to such news but I am too baffled.  Smiles?  No, dead?  Found them under something?  Sharing loudly with the entire class.  God!  Who does that?

One of the other students pipes up and says something about “saying like that” and repeating the entire conversation, noting the smiles not matching the news and I can tell Student is feeling embarrassed.  I quiet the class down, say one more condolence and move to pass out the rest of the assignment.

Student was probably just happy to tell me that they weren’t looking anymore.  That they had an answer and the what ifs were no longer prodding.  The bad news part was just what it was, the answer and bad news.  When you’re 12, it seems to me at least, that loss is an remote idea that someone else has to deal with, even in this case, the “cousin” ended up not being very close to them anyway.  Compartmentalizing, we all do it.  It’s for self preservation.  When you’re 12, you shouldn’t have to deal with such heartache.   But that’s just me.