Short Story~Climbing out the Nursing Home Window~~AF~17

                “Medley.  How are you holding up dear.”  Stanza asked handing her a tissue.

                “Fifty-five years.  Fifty-five years of caring for this man and he’s gone.  Just like that.”

                The girls pulled her into a hug.  By “the girls” I mean Stanza, Capella, and Carol.  They met in college.  A bunch of band girls who had become fast friends and somehow managed to stay close throughout the years regardless of where their careers and husbands took them.  They kept talking about moving in together all their lives, but it never worked out.  It always seemed like someone was getting married, someone didn’t want to quit their job just to have to find another, someone was in the wrong country…..  Then when they all got married all their husbands thought it was kind of a weird idea.  But now, everyone was widowed except Carol.  Ironic, because Carol used to joke about killing Medley’s husband when she became a widow so they could grow old in a nursing home together.  Medley would always tell her that her kids would love her entirely too much to ever put her in a nursing home. 

               

                A few weeks after the funeral, Medley’s children broke it to her that they were going to have to put her in a nursing home.

                “You can’t put me a nursing home George!”  She shouted.  “I fed you!  I clothed you! I paid for your education!  You ungrateful little chicken s***!”

                “Mom.  I appreciate all those things and you know that.  But I have a wife, two kids, and I’m working on my Ph.D.  I can’t keep driving two and a half hours for your so-called emergencies.”

                “So-called?  My emergencies are real!”

                “Mom, you called me down here to open a pickle jar.”

                “Well, I was working on a recipe that called for pickles!  Your dad used to open those for me.”  She started tearing up again. 

                “I would just feel better if you had some people near that could help you.”

                “You can’t make me!  I will go in kicking and screaming!”

                Well,…she couldn’t really kick as she was in a wheelchair, but she did go in screaming.  “George you ungrateful wretch!  You were supposed to love me enough to keep me out of one of these places!” As she snatched a little old man’s walker out from underneath him and hurled it at George’s head. 

                “Mother!  Stop!” 

                “Take me home!”  She said as she grabbed at a lady’s cane.

                “Oh no, you don’t.”  He steered her away and up to the front desk. 

                He smiled at the front desk lady who looked horrified.  “I’ve come to offer you a new resident.”

                “No, he didn’t!”  She went for his neck, but it was just out of reach.

                “Oh well, of course, we would love to have her.  She seems darling.  Let me just check and see if we have any rooms available.”  She fiddled around on the computer a little.  “Oh.  We are all full!  I’m sorry.”

                And the pattern continued.  Until they finally found one that would take on the challenge.  George was pretty sure they took her because they were desperate for residents.  The place was absolutely depressing.  The walls were this ugly yellow.  You know the darker yellow that kind of looks like it wants to be gold without any of the beauty that comes with gold.  Yeah, that color.  There was no art on the walls.  There was a small TV in the lobby area, but it was an old black and white TV.  George momentarily felt bad about leaving his mother there.  Then he remembered the man with the walker that she tried to kill.   He shook it off and drove away.

                Medley remained in her room alone, all day every day.  They sent in a nurse three times a day to give her a tray of food that she threw across the room.  Once a week a scared looking nurse would come in and give her her sponge bath.  It was never the same nurse.   And so, Medley was forced to be alone with her thoughts, day after day with very little human interaction.  She was absolutely miserable.  She often thought of a time when she wasn’t miserable.  In college, she was never miserable.  The shenanigans of her, Stanza, Carol, and Capella were enough to make sure she didn’t have time to be miserable. 

After about three weeks of this madness, she hatched a plan.  She was going to get the girls back together again.  They were all retired so their jobs wouldn’t miss them.  The only thing standing in their way was that pesky Jacob!  Carol’s husband.  So naturally, her first order of business was to get rid of him.  The trouble was, he was as fit as a fiddle and twenty years younger than all the girls!  So poison would be suspicious.  But the more she was left alone with her thoughts, the more refined her plans became. 

Finally, at midnight, she opened her window, used her bedsheets to lower her wheelchair down to the ground, while supporting herself on the windowsill.  She then threw herself down into it.  Surprisingly she stuck the landing!  This alone gave her hope that her plan would work!  She hotwired one of the night nurse’s cars, rigged up a system to work the peddles and drove to California!  Switching cars along the way to avoid two things, running out of gas and getting caught.

When she reached California, she watched him!  Everywhere he went.  Work, home, kickboxing with Carol, taking Carol on dates.  It seemed that the only place he went that Carol wasn’t with him was work.  So, that settled it! 

She waited for him at an intersection one morning.  Angry cars kept honking at her to go every time the light turned green, but she had to be patient.  He finally got there!  And when his light turned green, she hit the gas and crashed into him, when she was certain he was dead, she sped off!  She switched cars again in the parking lot of some apartments she found.  Luckily, her fingerprints were on none of these cars!  She was smart enough to wear gloves. 

Once her Jacob problem was solved.  She waited for the funeral to be over so that Carol could have her time of morning.  Though of course, she couldn’t go to the funeral.  Because no one knew where she was.  Besides, George might have been at the funeral.  Medley did appear however when Carol went to the bathroom. 

“Carol.”

“Medley!  Where have you been?  George has been looking everywhere for you!”

“I broke out of that awful nursing home he put me in.”

“Well, now where are you living?”

“I’m on the run.”

“That’s silly Medley.  Just come with me.”  And she looked towards the door.   “George is here.  We will figure out a solution.”  But by the time she looked back.  Medley was gone. 

But of course, she wasn’t just gone!  She was sitting on the commode in the handicapped bathroom being very quiet and still.  She was hoping Carol wouldn’t think to check under the stalls because she couldn’t lift her wheelchair off the ground for that long.  But to Carol, she seemed to be gone. 

“Medley?”  Carol looked around.  “I always knew I’d go crazy eventually.”

The next step of the plan was a go!  She robbed a bank.  Of course, she was very careful.  She picked one in a small town where no one knew her, wore a ski mask, colored contacts, and gloves.  After the bank had placed all the money in the bag, she rolled out of there, stole a teller’s minivan and was off. 

Now that she had money, she could hire her favorite hitman, Lance!  Lance was to kidnap all her friends but specifically instructed him not to hurt them!  

He kidnapped Stanza under the cover of nightfall right after a bowling tournament.  Capella, he took after Bible study and Carol was easy.  He just broke into her house as she now lived alone. 

The great thing about hiring Lance as your hitman was, he had a helicopter!  So when he had successfully kidnapped everyone, he flew them to Norway.  There he gently placed them gently in recliners in the living room of a house.  He untied their hands and disappeared. 

Soon after they had taken off their blindfolds, Medley came in the house. “Hi girls!”

“Medley.  What is going on?”  Capella asked.

“I got the girls back together.”

“Ummm did you have to kidnap us to do that?”  said Stanza.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because all of our plans to live together again have failed!  Something was always getting in our way.  This way none of you could back out!”

“But we’re all retired, and all of our husbands have passed so what would have stopped us?”  Stanza argued.  Carol started to tear up at the thought of her husband.

“Nothing!  That’s why this is the perfect time.”  Medley was all smiles.

“I don’t know what I would have done anyways…”  Said Carol, “now that Jacob is gone.  I can’t believe he was the one to die first.” 

The girls all came over to comfort her. 

“Okay.  Well, we’re already in…,”  said Capella.

“Norway.”

“Norway.  We’re already in Norway.  We might as well make the most of it.  I was sad and pitiful all by myself anyway.” 

“So you’re gonna stay?”  Medley said.  “You’re not going to turn me into George!”

“Well it’s not like you gave us much of a choice you crazy old bat!” said Stanza.

“Yay!  Now we’ve gotta go exploring!  What are we going to see first?” 

They went on discussing what to see and when to go for hours.  They lived out the rest of their lives blissfully running around Norway like tourists and Carol never figured out who killed Jacob.  Said she didn’t have the energy, besides God would take care of them for her.  They were happy until they started to pass away.  Capella went first, then Stanza.  Carol stayed alive until there was only one day til her hundredth birthday. 

When she passed…Medley was again left alone with her thoughts….

By: Acacia Faye 

Prose~Coveting Blindness~AF~16

I found her in the kitchen, doing dishes and listening to some old black lady sing about wanting to be blind on repeat.  She had tears in her eyes.  I had never seen my jolly little curly headed roommate cry before.  I didn’t know what to do.  I just stood there for a few seconds and watched her wash dishes.  “What’s wrong Bliss?” 

“I’ll be fine.”  She says.

“Okay.” I sat down for a minute, because you can’t really give a crying woman a hug while she’s frantically cleaning. But I couldn't just sit there so I got up abruptly.  “I’m going to the store.”  I realize that this wasn’t the time to go to the store, but my thought process was, Ice cream fixes everything.  I got chocolate because this seemed like an emergency.

          

  By the time I got back with her ice cream, she had the living room and the kitchen spotless.  I found her in the bathroom scrubbing the tub. “Bliss.  I got you ice cream.  Come sit down, eat some, and talk to me.  This excessive cleaning doesn’t seem to be helping.”

            “No. I’m not done with the bathroom yet.  I still have to finish cleaning the tub, then there is the sink, and the mirrors and the drawers need to be organized and....  I just.  I need everything clean!”

            “It can wait Bliss.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

            “No!”  She snapped.  “I have to clean it.  I needs it to be spotless!” 

            There was a long silence before I spoke, besides the sound of scrubbing and that sad lady singing the song. 

            “Well let me help you.”  I grabbed a disinfectant wipe. 

            “No no no.  You go sit down and watch T.V. in the nice, clean living room.”  She said ripping the wipe out of my hands and shoving me away from the bathroom. 

            So I put the ice cream in the freezer, sat on the couch, and turn on the T.V. like a good girl.  I was starting to think Bliss was catching O.C.D. so I started googling O.C.D. symptoms.  I didn’t know what to do, but I didn’t want to leave her to deal on her own, so I just sat there and pretended to be interested in some documentary about cannibals. 

The song she kept replaying over and over again was officially on my nerves.  It was some old black lady whining, I mean uhhh singing about how she would rather go blind than see her significant other leave her.  I looked up the song, I’d Rather Go Blind by Etta James.  The song made me think Guy trouble?  But I knew it wasn’t guy trouble because Bliss didn’t even date.  I don’t even think I have ever heard her say a guy was cute. Maybe she had a crush on someone for like years and he just got married.  I thought up a million different scenarios while she cleaned the bathtub, the toilet, the mirrors, the walls, the floor…. She even took down the shower curtain and scrubbed it too; this made me more nervous than anything.  Who scrubs a shower curtain?

            A couple hours later, she comes out of the bathroom, red face and sweaty, with hair flying everywhere.  She sits down beside me and sobs.  “There is nothing else to clean.”

            I got up, got two bowls of ice cream, sat back down and handed one to her.  “Bliss.  What are you trying to scrub away?”

            “Dad’s blood.”  She says.

            I was quiet, so she could explain.

            “I dropped by today and he was…he was….  He shot himself.”

            I tried to pull her close to comfort her, but she just sat stiff.  She hadn’t touched the ice cream, but her eyes shifted back and forth between it and the floor.  After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, she slowly poured the ice cream on the floor and set the bowl and spoon neatly next to it.  She pulled her knees up to her chest and starred at the mess.  

By: Acacia Faye 

Essay~No Pigmy Goats~AF~15

In high school and college, I didn’t really create my life plan like I should have. A lot of the girls in college felt like they should be married with 2.5 kids by age 25. I never felt like that, but I did feel like I would at least have a fabulous job that I loved, a cute little “tiny house” in the country to exist in for the single part of my life, and two pigmy goats to keep me company. Their names were going to be Snippers and Clippers, because their main purpose in my life would be to mow my grass for me. There I would live, in complete happiness until some gorgeous stranger came, knocked on my door, and asked for a glass of iced tea. (Why a gorgeous stranger would be in the middle of nowhere stopping at random houses for a glass of tea was not important.) We would sit my front porch looking at the gorgeous view, telling each other our life stories. Then we would fall in love and live happily ever after with Snippers and Clippers to look after until we decided to adopt children. Not your average ideal life, but I’m not your average person.

 That’s not what happened. I applied to like 30 jobs after college and the only place that would hire me was a call center in the middle of the hood. I was desperate, so I took the job. I am sorry to say that I still work there. I didn’t think I had any mental disorders before I started working there. Now I have many. I have had several anxiety attacks. I get weekly if not daily suicidal thoughts. I also now understand the mind of an arsonist. I have never wanted to burn a building to the ground before. Now I daydream about it, you know while I am sitting in the car a few minutes before work agonizing about going in. I knit at work. It is my own sad attempt to keep myself sane. People keep asking me to make stuff for them, but I never promise them anything because then I would feel obligated to get it to them in a timely manner. And that’s just too much pressure for me. I keep telling myself, I’ll be free of this place soon. When I get suicidal, I think about how great it will be to quit when I find another job. Because on quitting day, I plan to show up in a party hat, with balloons, my own going away cake, and knitted hats for everyone!

 I do not live in a tiny house nor do I own pigmy goats. I live in a one-bedroom apartment. There is nothing wrong with my apartment really. I’d rather my guests not have to go through my bedroom to get to the bathroom. I don’t really like all those parking spaces that I can’t park in because they are reserved for people who pay for them. And there’s just not much room for my pigmy goats to run and play. There’s not really a need for them either because there’s no grass for them to mow at an apartment. So, I don’t have pigmy goats. I’ll probably never have pigmy goats. But if I ever do, I have names picked out.

 You know what I do have that I didn’t expect that this age? A boyfriend. Not one of the ones you’ll probably get rid of soon either. He is one of those you want to marry and adopt children with one day. I know! Weird! He did kind of come out of nowhere, but he did not stop at my apartment and ask for a glass of iced tea. I’m pretty glad he didn’t. The more I think about that scenario, the more I think a grown man I don’t know knocking on my door for anything might be a bit creepy…. Notice I am not a romance writer.

 I guess what I’m trying to say is, life is not ideal for anyone. Not even the people who did accomplish the whole married with 2.5 kids by age 25. Because those people probably didn’t realize their spouse leaves his dirty socks in the floor and that babies don’t have snooze buttons. But it’s okay! You see you have a plan and God has a plan. Chances are they don’t match up. Chances are your plan wasn’t that great anyways. I love my life! Every area of it is going pretty darn good, except my job, but prayerfully I will be rid of that soon. I have a nice little apartment, a car with A.C. and everything, great friends, awesome mom, and a fabulous boyfriend! The ideal life looks different now. Now when I plan for the future there is a man in it! And no pigmy goats! Crazy right? It is ever changing. Don’t be afraid to change with it.

Also, if your job or anything else gives you suicidal thoughts.  See my poem Silencing Suicide https://somorahssanity.blogspot.com/2017/09/poemsilencing-suicideaf12.html for encouragement.  You got this!  Joy comes in the morning!

Poem~These Things~AF~14

When I think Philippians 4:8, 

I meditate on many things, 

For many things are noble and true. 

But there is one memory in particular. 

I think about your big pretty house,

With the elevator, I mean uhh the “service lift.” 

And that view of the lake, I swear I marked the spot where heaven met earth. 

I think of your family, 

With your parents that made me want to believe that happily ever after was still a thing, 

And your very protective dad that didn’t want our twenty-something-year-old selves to get lost in the maze at the pumpkin patch. 

And the mom who pulled him aside to convince him to let us go. 

At nine o clock each night, your father would call us all down and read scripture to us. 

Made sure everyone understood it. 

Introduced his kids to the God he worshiped himself. 

Waited for no one else to do that. 

Before I arrived there, I resolved to never get married. 

The single life was fine, make my own decisions all by myself, 

Told myself, independence was my calling. 

Told myself, I might get lonely, but never lonely enough to give a man the power to break me like…. 

I starred at the spot where heaven met earth while everyone was napping after our joyous feast and cried. 

Because when you get a glimpse of a love that’s drastically more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen you just… 

Because when you hear God say, in his own way of speaking that this is kind of family your children will know you just…

Because when you think happily ever after was a story mom told you so reality didn’t give you nightmares and then you see it in real life, you just… 

There in front of where heaven meets earth, 

I threw my decision made in the midst of trauma into the lake and watched it drown. 

I took the promise God gave me and put it in the safest place inside me, 

In the same little pouch where my mustard seed lies. 

So when I think about these things, 

These things that are true, noble, and right. 

These things that are pure, lovely, and admirable 

These things that are excellent or praiseworthy, 

I ponder many things. 

Of course, I think of my five-year-old nephew’s wiggle when he hears a dance-worthy song. 

Of course, I think of my mother’s drive to always make sure her babies are taken care of. 

Of course, I think of my big brother who loves me, but I’m not allowed to tell anyone. 

But meditating on this, Family, like God intended it… 

Taking hold of the promise you were trying to give me… 

Seeing it so clearly after I forgot what it looked like… 

Hope. 

Hope is praiseworthy. 

Hope is pure.

By:Acacia Faye

Poem~"Silencing Suicide"~AF~12

Sometimes I feel like I am going to die here...

At this desk,
In front of this computer,
I watch these stupid blue walls.
They laugh at me.

Sometimes I can see my last moments...

While I listen to this angry middle eastern man yell.
I hear the cackle of the walls.
Excited because they have finally driven me mad.
The stupid blue walls become water and they drown me.

Sometimes I picture myself at age sixty-four...

Two days away from blessed retirement,
When I choke on a disclosure.
People try to save me,
But the Heimlich is no match for meaningless words.

These are the thoughts that make me want to die.

But like, in the middle of a party.
So the last thing I hear will be laughter.
The last thing I see an awkward chicken dance.
My last feelings, joy and happiness.


I can’t do that though; I’d miss the rest of the party.

Maybe I should die in the arms of the love of my life.
That way, I can die with the taste of his lips still on my tongue.
I can die feeling safe and warm in his arms.
I can listen to his heartbeat sing me to sleep.

But I know I couldn’t do it; I would just want to grow old there.

I realize that I don’t want to die.
I want to fall in love and love long after we are both grey with deep smile lines.
I want to throw a party and laugh and dance like a crazy person.
I want to make this world better, do something worth something.

But all I do is recite meaningless scripts until my day is done.

I tell God, “Give me purpose or give me death!”
I cry, “If this is all life is I don’t want it!”
I say, “Take this life and give it to someone who will appreciate it!”
I scream, “Give it to someone who actually thinks this meaningless existence is a gift!”

But only part of me wants to die, the other part just yells at me.

She tell me, “Shut up! Be grateful you’re not starving or homeless!”
She cries, “Kill yourself then! Watch your mother find you dead in here from beyond the grave!”
She says, “Watch her cry! After she did war with poverty and grown men just to keep you alive!”
She screams, “Suck it up! Do you realize you are blubbering because there is no one to play with!”

I try to suck it up and calm down.

I listen to the house creek, and the refrigerator hum.
I listen to how beautiful the silence is when I am not hyperventilating.
That’s when I hear God's calm whisper, “You just wait.”
This was not my own mind’s attempt to save myself.

I know this because I have never been that calm.

I don’t even know what I am waiting for,
But I just do what He says.
Because I will not watch my mother find me lifeless from beyond the grave.
Because if I die, I will miss something worth living for.

So, I fight for my life and win again.

I yell at Depression, “You cannot have me! As hard as I cry, I will always laugh harder!”
I scream at Suicide, “Give up!  I will always find a better reason to stay alive than to die!”
I whisper to Anxiety, “Darling. I will be fine without your constant warnings of nonexistent danger.”
I let her know, “Whatever comes or doesn’t come I can handle it without her. I’m strong enough.”

And this is not personification.

Depression, Suicide, and Anxiety are real demons.
They really scream at me from inside my mind.
They make me feel horrible things.
They make me think like a crazy person.


Mom, don't worry.  I promise I will always stay alive long enough for the Voice of Calm to silence them.

~Acacia Faye

Background for the poem: So I work in call center. I take calls all day. Sometimes doing nothing meaningful all day just gets to me. This poem was inspired by a terrible week I had. Literally, everyday when I woke up something awful would happen in my adult life. Not to mention our other call center shut down for that week. So we were getting back to back calls from customers who were mad because they had been on hold so long. It was a stressful week altogether. Somewhere in the middle of the week I had the whole, "Just give me something meaningful to do or kill me." Conversation with God. He said, "You just wait." Honestly, I'm not quite sure what God wants me to do or what life holds, but I am expecting amazing things, because that's how God works. I know if I don't wait and see, I'll miss something and I don't want to miss anything. So, here is my advice to anyone who is struggling, even if you're atheist, just do what God said, "You just wait." You never know what you'll find when the horrifying season in your life is over. Just push through it. You're strong enough.

If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or feelings. Know that you are not alone. There is always someone out there who understands. Reach out to someone you trust. Here are some links to an organization that is opened 24 hours a day everyday of the week for no other reason, but to help you live another day. Don't try and fight this alone. We need each other.

The National Suicide Hotline Call 1-800-273-8255chat is available toohttps://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Prayer~A Jospeh~AF~11

A Prayer:  A Joseph 

        You came to me in a dream the other day, You are always coming to me in dreams, but I never know what You're saying.  I feel like I should though, like if I were to meditate on them or analyze the crap out of them, I would get it.  So my prayer is that You would give me ear to hear what You are trying to tell me, eyes to see what You are trying to show me.  My prayer is for clarity.....



You showed me my wedding day to the love of my life in dream world, the infatuation of late in reality.  We were laughing so hard, probably about nothing as we always do, dancing like happily ever after had finally come.  He has a very specific smile, and by specific I mean freaking adorable, but in the manliest way possible.  Maybe it's the way his teeth look all white and sparkly next to his dark skin.  Maybe it's the way they're not perfectly straight like You positioned them more perfectly than braces ever could.  Maybe it's the lips that frame them.  They are large enough that if he were to kiss me, I would feel it even after he has pulled away. This is the image of him that was in my dream.  Him smiling and laughing in his fanciest suit, me giggling like a little girl in my gorgeous white dress, representing purity.
Then everything went dark.  The love of my life in dream world, infatuation of late in reality was gone.  It was still my wedding day, but my dress turned black as sin and my husband turned white and then I realize he was old.  I looked at myself and asked someone if I were getting old too.  I tried to get him to dance with me, to talk to me, to hold me, but he wouldn't.  I woke up.

I went back to sleep and You showed me my honeymoon with the love of my life in dream world, infatuation of late in reality.  We were the same, smiling and laughing, probably at nothing.  We met some people at the beach and laughed with them to, kind of like we do in real life.  But then he kisses me with all of the love in his heart and it was just a dream, but I swear I still felt it when I woke up.
I don't know if you're trying to tell me to marry that man or something else that has to do with impurity.  This dream confused me, troubled me a little. My prayer is for clarity.



A couple of months ago you showed me things in dreams that troubled me greatly.  I woke up terrified....

I found a woman and her son buried alive in my backyard.  Luckily there was still breath in their lungs.  The entire world was in chaos.  People were running from other people.  I am walking through the chaos with my young nephew's hand in mine.  We were both at peace there.  People had decided this was happening because You were angry and they were looking to me to figure out what to do.  We throw away all the skulls and other decorations people associate with demons and death, because You did not want demonic things in our houses and gift shops.
I think this is what it would be like to witness your wrath.  Are you telling me you are angry?  I mean, I know that all of the things we humans, created in your image, have become makes you angry.  But are you telling me it's coming soon?  Are you telling me I can do something about it?  What can I do?  My prayer is for clarity.



In college, I had three dreams that I had a little black child with platinum blond hair and grey eyes.  It sounds like she would look creepy, but she was freaking gorgeous.  Obviously this means one day you are going to bless me with a little black child, with platinum blond hair and grey eyes.  Right?  I mean, I am ninety-nine percent sure, but still my prayer is for clarity.


I remember dreams like this in scripture.  Joseph had some, but he understood them.  I would compare myself to Pharaoh, dreaming of seven skinny cows eating seven fat cows.  Your word says his mind was troubled so he knew it meant something, but he didn't know what it meant.  He sought wise council.  He would not rest until he found someone to interpret the dream.  Maybe I need a Joseph in my life to bring me clarity.  God, will You bring me a Joseph?

By: Acacia Faye

Letter~"A Response Letter to LadybytheSea"~AF

Dear Lady by the Sea,

You are a mess, you're crazy, and sometimes you just don't make sense, but I love you to death.  You have this big heart, this love for people, for art, music, and stories.  You see the whole world as if it were a book and we are all characters.  You see books as if they are the world and the characters are real.  Like I said, you're crazy, but there is a certain poetry in crazy.  If you were not crazy, we could never be friends because we couldn't go to concerts and shake our hair or laugh about at things like characters in shows who never get fired as much as they skip work.

You have this way of learning things.  You don't like to learn from other people, you like to teach yourself.  I wonder if you were born in the times of the great scientists like Einstein and those people who like to drop things and give it's fall a name, what kind of trouble you and them would have gotten into.  I wonder if you would have given gravity it's name first.  You would have probably thought harder about it's name.  It would have been symbolic in some way.  It would have had to mean something.

I see the beauty in your heart when I look at your paintings.  I can't explain it.  The best I can do is compare it to a group of two year old's playing with bubbles.  They are so wild and gorgeous.  They squeal and laugh.  They're so awestruck that it makes you awestruck.  Wild and gorgeous describes all of your art from poetry to paints.  If you could fill a canvas with laughter and squeals it would look like the painting hanging in my bedroom that you said you had so much fun with.

I know we challenge you.  I know I push you further than you want to go sometimes.  But I also know that you actually want to go further, you just won't admit it to yourself.  You, Lady sit by the Sea and you marvel at it because it's gorgeous, because God is the best artist.  You wonder as you sit there what it might feel like to go running into the ocean.  You wonder if it's cold or warm.  You think about the glorious things that might be beneath the surface, but you are held back by a terrible fear of sharks.

Lady, whenever you are tired of your spot in the hot sun, whenever you are ready for the refreshing ocean to ease the pain of your sunburn that you inevitably have from sitting in that spot by the Sea for years, you are going to go running into that ocean.  It's going to be a glorious sight.  By this, I mean you are going to take a big risk.  You will dive deep and you're going to grow a fin. By this, I mean you're going to do impossible things, not hard things.  Impossible things.  You may even see a shark, but you will face it with all of the boldness of Esther and command it with all of the authority of Christ.  By this, I mean you're going to do impossible, terrifying things with confidence.  Then, we will all call you by your new name.  Sirena Enla Mar.  I'm quite sure God gave it to me.  Translation, Mermaid in the Sea.  Because once you have discovered how powerful you are in the big gorgeous sea, this will be your favorite place and you won't believe you were ever scared of it.  

So as if I haven't challenged you enough, here's another one to help build the confidence that Sirena Enla Mar will need to do impossible and terrifying things.  Take your own challenge that you have so carefully avoided.  Sit down somewhere quiet and take a long hard look inside yourself.  Do not get up until you have found three things you are proud of about your personality.  If you'll listen hard enough, God himself just might tell you what he likes in you, what he placed in you.  

Love, 

Acacia Faye

   

Blog Post ~ "Before I learned to Hide" ~ AF ~ 9

I think childhood stories show more of a person than stories from adulthood.  As children, we didn't feel the need to get permission to be ourselves.  So today, I'm going to tell you three things about my personality by telling you stories from my childhood.  You will get to know Acacia, before she learned to hide parts of herself.

Goofy

When my younger sister and I were about seven and eight, we would spend a couple of weeks in the summer with dad.  Our step-mom would let us stay awake long enough for him to get home so that we could annoy him a little bit before bed.  When he finally did get home, he would be so tired that when he sat down to talk to us, he would go right to sleep and sleep talk to us.
One day we decided to paint his toenails while he was sleeping.  It was my sister's idea and it was brilliant!  Our step-mom was in on it, so if he wanted to spank us, he would have to take it up with her.
We waited until he got home, gave him a hug and talked to him until he fell asleep as was our normal routine.  Then we painted them piggies!  I don't remember what color, but knowing our girly selves, they probably had sparkles.

Dad told me later on that those painted piggies got him out of a fight the next day.  He was outside wearing sandals about to fight this man, probably for something stupid, then the guy looks at dad's feet and started laughing.  This makes dad angrier.  He says, "What are you laughing at?"  Then looks down and all he can say is, "Daughters man."  The guy understood.

Generosity

As told by Great Granny...
You know, when you were about five years old, we were in the grocery store and I was freezing cold.  You took your little sweater off and handed it to me.

Courage

As told by Mama...
Do you remember when you decided to get baptized?  You were scared to death of water.  You would never even get off the steps at the pool and you definitely wouldn't put your head under water, but you were determined to get baptized.  You and your cousins practiced in the pool in the backyard, going underwater.
When the time came you were ready.  We went out to the lake and when they went to dunk you, you panicked and kept your head above the water.  Everyone clapped and the preacher and the deacon thought they were done, but you said, "My head didn't go under."  You made them do it again.

By: Acacia Faye

Letter ~ "I Forgot to Name This: A Letter to My Friends" ~LbtS ~ 9

July 2, 2017 

5:00pm   
                                        Dear Naomi Lee and Acacia Faye,  
  
     I should be writing three things I am proud of about my personality, but instead I'm watching Bendandsnap Commonweath's reading of Sol LeWitt's 1965 letter to Eve Hess. Eve was struggling with writers block and Sol gave Eve a real talking to about work. As I listen to this fantastic letter, I confess that I'm sitting here wondering how the hell I'm supposed to do anything unafraid. I'm a mess of anxiety with a huge heap of deep seated insecurities I can't seem to fix or ignore no matter how hard I try, and I'm sitting here struggling to write a simple blog post about myself. Should be the easiest thing in the world to write about ones own self. I can't seem to do it yet. 
     I keep thinking about how these words I string together will be read by someone I will probably never meet in person, and could potentially be read by many more people, which is overwhelming.  I chose to be anonymous, thinking it would take the pressure off of this fact, but I've somehow found more pressure in my anonymity. All people will know of me are my words and my username. They won't know who I am in person, and if they are anything like me, they could be curious. I don't have any second thoughts about my choice, I'm keeping it. What it is- it's this: Someone will eventually stumble upon these 26 English letters I arrange and rearrange under the corybantic grammar and spelling rules of this Frankenstein language which gets so frustrating- even though its my native language. God, English is weird...and beautiful when its used by someone who can direct it. I don't want to mess up. I have ridiculously high standards for myself and my work. I want to write. I want to write well. I love this language (warts and all) and I want to learn how to use it. To make it sing and resonate and hit people like a ton of bricks with the feels. Aww the feels, but so far, like Eve, I'm bothered by my writing. I read it and I hate it. I mean, I can look in the mirror everyday and see the beauty others see in my appearance, but I look at my words or my art, I want to burn it. I see all the flaws in my work and hate them, whereas I celebrate my flaws in my appearance. I have this red blood vein that sticks out of my right nostril right on the base of the septum wall like a small hook, and I love it. My students at work point it out all the time and I tell them what it is and they love it and I get to introduce them to some simple human biology, which is great for young minds. Even when I wear make up I don't cover it. I enjoy the unique things in my appearance and the unique things in others and their work. Just the other day I was reading your work Naomi Lea, your "Guilt" essay. It had so much information, insight, wisdom, and I agree with you that convictional (is that even a word? Idk you get my drift) guilt can lead us to/back to Jesus. You explained it all with clear descriptive metaphors and language, yet when we talked about it you mentioned a few grammar things and there being too much passive voice and I'm like "What's passive voice?" I don't even know what passive voice was at the moment. I'm thankful you filled me in on that by the way. And when I read your work Acacia Faye, it's alive with meaning, honesty, and emotions that touch the heart. I aspire to write as wonderfully as both of you do.
      I want to be able to do my work without a care in the world. To say "fudge you" to my insecurities and anxiety, to write without crying and using baked goods as swear words. I want to write as confidently as I walk in my favorite 70s styled 5 inch platform heels, to be as free with information as I am with my students, friends, and family. I want to see the unique beauty in my work as I see in others and my outward appearance. I want to be proud of my work, to love it, and I hope one day I will be able to celebrate what I've worked so hard to create. 
    It's now 11:21pm, so I'm going to call it a night. I'll probably edit this more throughout the week before sending it to you guys, then posting it on July 10th.
  
 July 4, 2017 
1:29pm - 3:07pm
       Happy Fourth guys! I thank both of you for including me in this new challenging endeavor of blog writing and maintenance. I haven't thanked either of you, I think. I might have, I don't know I can't seem to recall. I'm in much higher spirits than I was on the 2nd, and I hope both of you are having a wonderful Fourth. I also want to say thank you for reading this letter too. I feel lighter now, having confessed everything, and for once I don't hate what I've written. I might one of these days, but for now I'm going to celebrate I've written something. I still plan on posting this on the 10th, and I'll be sending it off to you guys shortly. While this letter is still between me and God, I must confess one more thing: I'm not sure what others will think. But it's okay. I don't know what people think of me when I go out, I can only know what I think, and I like it. I'm excited now. 
        Please, celebrate what you guys have done too. Both of you have done so much, especially in my mind. Yes, none of us are novelist (yet) and none of us have been published in any major mainstream things, but both of you have been published at your Alma mater, which is more that I could say since I didn't do much of anything at mine. I am sure one day we will be published somewhere and we'll be able to go to the bookstore and see our books. Just remember not to sign them cause then the book/books will be marked as damaged and yeah that's not good. Could leave a note in it though. That would be fun.
        We're still starting out, still young, and still learning what it is we want to write about and how we want to write it. I'm confident all three of us will figure it all out, and accomplish everything we dream of accomplishing. I'm proud of us. 
                  
                                               Your friend, 
                                             LadybytheSea

P.S. here is the direct link to Sol LeWitt's letter to her friend Eva Hesse as read by Benedict Cumberbatch : https://youtu.be/VnSMIgsPj5M

              

Poem~"Why Did You Do it?"~AF~7

Dad, why did you do it?
He looks at me with eyes that have always lied,
He says, "I swear I'm not guilty.
You are safe with me baby girl."

Dad, why did you do it?
He sits down, he tears up, his voice gets small,
He says, "I didn't do it.
I swear you can trust me."

Dad, why did you do it?
He grabs my shoulders, he shakes me,
He says, "I can't believe you think I would do that.
You have to believe I did not do it."

Dad, why did you do it?
He hits the table with both hands,
He says, "Damnit child!"
Stop asking me that or I'll dot your eye!" 

Dad, why did you do it?
He narrows his eyes.
He says, "Because I am the father and she is the daughter!
I can make her do whatever I want!"

Dad, why did you do it?
He picks me up by my neck.
He says, "None of your damn business little girl!
I'm a grown man and I do what I want!"

Dad, why did you do it?
He cries, he wipes his eyes.
He says, "I had to make up for all the times...
I never showed her I loved her."

Dad, why did you do it?
He sobs on the floor.
He says, "I didn't know she didn't want me to.
I'm sorry.  Tell her I'm sorry."

Dad, why did you do it?
He looks at me with misty honest eyes.
He says, "I don't know what's wrong with me.
I thought it would help me figure it out."

Dad, this is what God says to you,
When I ask you why you did it.
This is what He says to you,
When I sit down to listen. 

Speak son.
Speak now or forever cry in silence,
Forever hold your breath,
Forever tighten the noose around your own neck. 
Answer the child's questions.

Speak son.

Tell her about the day when everything went dark,
About the time your mind started twisting,
What they said and did to twist it.
Tell her why you did it.

Speak son.
Tell her about the day you were silenced,
About the day your truthful tongue was ripped from your mouth,
The name of the person who holds it now.
Tell her why you did it.

Speak son.
Tell her about your darkest day,
What made the monster inside,
About the time you decided to free it.
Tell her why you did it.

Speak son.
Dig up the truth that you buried alive as a kid.
Dig it up because no matter how many showers you take,
No matter how hard you scrub,
You will forever lie in mud with your name until you speak. 

Speak son.
Tell her your story,
For this may be your only chance to tell it.
Tell her what happened,
Because she is actually listening. 

Dad, I had much to say,
Lots of cuss words arranged in poetic ways.
But now that we are here,
I just want to listen.

I just want you to trust me with the truth.
I only have two questions.
Why did you do it?
And do you ever feel guilty?

Story ~ "When My Mouth Opened" ~ AF ~ 5

When My Mouth Opened

By: Acacia Faye

     When I was a child, the sirena only had one purpose among the triton. We were to breed with the them. The triton believed they all needed a smaller triton that looked like them. They took them from us after they were weened and raised them to believe they were above us. Our entire purpose was to make the baby triton and give them away when it was time.

     We lived in the coldest, darkest part of the ocean. The triton lived in the castle on top of the hill beside us. We couldn't swim or explore too much. The triton told us it was because a sirena was most beautiful when she was skinny, not muscular. But, it was really because if we got strong, they could no longer control us. The triton brought us enough food to keep us alive, but not enough to create the beautiful curves that we wear with such pride now. 

     If we swam passed the foreign artifact for any reason, at any time, we would be punished. I saw the triton punish my mom's best friend as a kid. She had just had a beautiful baby sirena. The baby needed her to produce milk. She couldn't because she herself was starving. So, she took a chance that no one else would have dared. She waited until all of the triton had left for the day. It was the perfect time because it was to be a full moon that day. The triton always go to watch the moon hit the ocean.  My mom and several other sirena tried to stop her, but they couldn't. She told them in our own way of communicating, "I don't care what they do to me. My baby needs food to live." She broke away from the other sirena. All of the sirena just watched her as she swam into the forbidden sea. 

We were all nervous, but no one expected one of the triton to come back. He found her right as she had crammed the last bite of fish in her mouth. He took the sirena by her gorgeous red curls, opened his mouth and made sound in her ear. You see, sirena can't make sound, we wouldn't want to. I'm not sure I have the words to describe how it hurts our ears when the triton make sound. Everything in the sea hears a triton's sound. If he makes sound in your ear, you will never hear again and be glad of it because you will never again have to hear that awful noise. Not long after that, all of the triton in our glamor were on top of her, ripping out her gorgeous curls. They never grew back. 

My mom said, "You shouldn't have done that. You should have waited for them to feed us." 
"Look," she said as she lifted her baby to her chest, "my baby eats."
I know it doesn't make sense, but ever since that moment, I wanted to be just like her.

     One of the triton picked me to be his breeder.  Every.  Freaking.  Time.  There was something terrible about him. I mean all of the triton were terrible, but this one especially. He was the leader of our glamour and I hated him. I can't tell you why he got under my skin so much, but every time he came for me I pictured him dying mid-breed. He was old, with a grey beard and these offensive green eyes. He had this way of swimming... and communicating...and chewing, even pooping that just made me angry. Every move he made was more arrogant than anyone. I still can't understand how someone can poop as if he thought he excreted waste better than anyone. 
   
     When the triton came back from one of their excursions, he would come to me. If I wasn't pregant, he would take me. Again. This time I was. I thanked God for the baby in my womb because for the year it took for the baby to come, no one would touch me. It was a triton.  We knew this because one of the sirena in our glamour can tell by putting her ear to our bellies. I was almost happy for him. How is a mother supposed to feel knowing her baby would one day grow to oppress her and yet would never be oppressed because of it?

When a triton reached the age of seventeen, they had The Ceremony of Tritonhood. We were only allowed to know about the part of the ceremony that concerned us.They brought our seventeen year old baby tritons in to pick the prettiest sirena to breed with. To be chosen at the ceremony of tritonhood was the highest honor. They lined us all up and examined every inch of us.  When he chose, he held her up in the air like a prize and carried her to the castle, then he would feed her double the size of our regular portions.
 
I had two more triton before my oldest reached seventeen. After examining us all, every young gorgeous sirena in our glamour, he picked me. I had never seen a young triton pick his mother before. They always picked younger, prettier sirena, the ones who are barely old enough to breed.  I thought, "Surely, he doesn't know I am his mother. He was too young when he was taken from me."  So, I politely told him. I caught every eye. The sirena all looked at me terrified. My mother tried to swim towards me, but the other sirena held her back. 

The old, arrogant triton that I hated knocked me out of consciousness with his tail. I then understood why I hated him so. His tail print marked me from the bottom of my stomach to the top of my head. It looked horrible, but when I woke up I still had to breed with my son. That's when I realized what a dishonor this great honor was.
 
After I was permitted to come home, my mom was there in an instant, doctoring my wounds, laying me down, and bringing me food. "Daughter, when your baby triton leaves you, he is no longer yours. You are his potential breeder. Nothing more. Just like the instant a baby sirena is born, she is no longer the triton's daughter. She is his potential breeder."

All of a sudden, I was curious.
"Which one of the triton is no longer my father?"
"You don't need to know."
She tried to swim away, but I wouldn't let her.
"Which one!?"
I was angry now. I felt I had a right to know. We all had a right to know. 
"Leader." 

     I had no idea I could find anymore hatred in my heart for him, but I did. I literally prayed for him to die. To who? I don't know. But when you're powerless, you just need someone to pray to. You just have to hope something out there is listening. Maybe God was a shark and would eat him for me. I fell asleep as I prayed. I dreamed of God. In my dream, God was a shark with hands to communicate like us. "You eat him." 
I said, "I can't. He's too big. He's too strong."
He started swimming away. "Open your mouth and eat him."  
"I can't." I kept saying, "I can't." But, he kept swimming. 
I looked around and I realized I was swimming in the exact spot where my mom's best friend lost her hearing. I panicked and swam as fast as I could back to safety, but there was a giant wall where the foreign artifact was supposed to be. So, I swam up and kept swimming until I ran into something. It was Leader. He grabbed my hair and I opened my mouth and I woke up. 

     I told my mother about the dream, but she stopped me. "Never tell anyone about this. Dreams like this are a death sentence. The triton would kill you if they knew you even had it. They fear dreams like this spark rebellions. They would count it as treason." 

     A few years later, I had the most beautiful sirena baby in the world. There was no way I could be sad that day. She lit up my entire world. The best part was, I would never have to give her away. I knew it was a selfish reason to be happy, but I now had something to live for.

     I was distraught when she turned thirteen. She was old enough to breed. That very day, guess who came: Leader. But, not for me this time, instead he came for her. He came for my child! His child! I was too angry to think. Sometimes, you just can't think. You act before you know you've done it. I jumped between them and before he realized what happened, I opened my mouth, wide. I guess I thought I was really going to eat him, but I let something came out instead.  It wasn't sound and I couldn't see it, but it was everything I had been feeling for years. It was what I wished for most. It was the death of Leader. It was the rebellion of my mom's best friend. It was the power of God, the shark. It was the love of a mother coming out of my mouth. It was so many things and it was all too much for Leader. He couldn't even make sound. He grabbed at his neck like I was choking him and fell over dead. 

     There was stillness among the sirena after the death of Leader. I wasn't sure if the stillness was to honor the dead or the soon to be dead. This was treason. I was going to die, but I was going to die fighting, because I had already started. So I grabbed Leaders body, held it above my head, and threw it in the middle of the sirena calling them all to battle. My mom's best friend, bald as she was, grabbed my hand. My daughter grabbed my other hand, and my mom hers. Pretty soon, everyone was holding hands, telling me in our own way they would die fighting, too. 

     We waited hand in hand, completely still for the rest of the triton. Soon, one came, saw his fallen leader, and made sound. This sound was different. It wasn't as loud or painful, or maybe we were just getting stronger.  In a few seconds, all of the triton in our glamour were there. One of them asked who did it and I opened my mouth, wide again. The four triton closest to me followed their leader in death. That started the war. They came after all of us. Some sirena found their God power. Some didn't. We killed several triton. They killed several sirena. Some lost their hair and some lost their hearing, but we won. I mean, we killed the most. I mean, the triton surrendered. I mean, we'll never be bothered again, but no one wins wars. Everyone loses something. I lost my mom and several brave sirena, but I still had her best friend and my daughter. 

     I went back to where I slept. I found my first son, who was no longer my son. He was crying. I had never seen a triton cry before. He said, "I'm sorry mom. I shouldn't have bred you. I should have picked someone else when you said you were my mom. I should have stood up for you. I shouldn't have let Leader hit you. I'm so sorry!"

     I should have told him to leave. I should have opened my mouth again and let my God power kill him. I should have eaten him, like the God-shark said, but I couldn't. He was my son no matter how many people tried to tell me he wasn't. I couldn't say anything. I was actually proud. Out of all the triton, my child was the only one who was strong enough to say he was wrong, to cry, to apologize. I took my baby boy into my arms and held him there as he cried and thanked God for him as I did when he was inside my womb. 

  

  

Prose ~ "Grandpa's Ramblings: Eggs and Candy." ~ AF ~ 4

Grandpa's Ramblings: Eggs and Candy

By: Acacia Faye

"Now listen here kid, lemme tell you 'bout Easter."

"I know all about Easter Grandpa.  Find the eggs.  Eat the candy.  Easter's over." 

"You don't know nothin' about Easter, knuckle-head.  Shut up and listen!  You 'member that Jesus character we talk about sometimes?" 

"Yes Grandpa.  I remember Jesus and God and he made world and died for our sins because we're all terrible people and would burn in hell if it weren't for his sacrifice blah blah blah." 

"Yeah great, so you know the story.  You don't seem to get it though." 

"What do you mean I don't get it?  I've heard it all my life.  What's not to get?"

"Lemme tell you a different way.  A boy and his father went campin'.  Now the boys father specifically told him if he saw a bear, back away slowly.  Don't try to run and definitely don't try to fight it.  Now the boy went to find good spot to pee.  His dad was gettin' the tent set up, when he heard the boy scream and went runnin' after him.  He found a bear about maul his son.  He wasn't sure he could save him, the bear was too close, but he come in a-hollarin' and a-wavin' anyway.  He found a cub behind the bear.  Goin' for that cub was a sure fire way to get his attention, but he knew if he did, he would definitely die.  He grit his teeth and did it anyway.  Anythin', on the off chance that he might save his boy.  'DAD!!!!'  The boy cried out as he ran toward his father. 

'Run boy!  Run home!'  That was all he could get out before the bear knocked him across the way and he blacked out, not knowin' what his son did, if he listened and made it home safe or if he didn't and tried to fight the bear and died too." 

"That's not what they teach in Church Grandpa."

"No it's not.  But it's the story of a man sacrificin' himself on the off chance that his boy would make the right decision and be saved.  That's God's story.  That's good Friday." 

"Okay.  I get that. So what happened to the boy?"

"The boy run home, told his mom what happened.  They cried a lot and everyone kept bringin 'em food, like food could erase the memory of his dad and make it all better.  The kids at school couldn't stop starring at him like he was going to pitch a fit in the middle of class or somethin'.  A few days later, guess who walks through the door?"

"More old ladies with food?" 

"Nope! His dad, not a scratch on him, with the head of that bear stuffed and ready to mount on the wall."

"I thought you said the bear knocked him out?  He couldn't come out of that alive being knocked out.  That's impossible!" 

"Exactly!  There was no way he coulda lived, but he was right there in front of the boy.  He hugged him and everything.  The boy wasn't nuts, he was really there.  That's whatcha call good news and that's why everyone celebrates on Easter." 

"So what's all that got to do with bunnies and eggs and candy?"

"Well youngin', I have no idea. But, if I had to guess, I might say it's got somethin' to do with the impossible, 'cause bunnies don't lay eggs and men don't come back from the dead.  I might say, it's got somethin' to do with new life what with the eggs and the children and things.  I might say, it's got somethin' to do with people being ridiculously happy what with the girl's feelin' the need to wear dresses with flowers on them and the way the world feels the need to paint itself with pastels and things.  I might say the candy companies were just sick o' waitin' for halloween to get all their money, so they thought of the dumbest way possible to celebrate a resurrection, and we all bought it.  Either way, that's Easter and it ain't got nothin' to do with candy and eggs."