Orange Peels

I watched the people pass me by, like I was a nobody, a nothing at all, for a long time. I watched as a woman drank a long pull from a cola can then threw it behind her like it was worthless. I wanted to scream “PICK THAT UP! THIS IS THE ONLY EARTH WE HAVE!” But I knew no-one would care, so I picked it up and threw it in my bag and walked on. This is what I do, by the way. I pick up peoples trash.

I  follow some people like a hawk, like people who have kids, picnic baskets. Anything that could mean trash, I once followed this woman with a two year old who kept throwing orange peels at me. Ones that had rotted and were being taken to the dump.  Yeah I kind of hate my job, but I know no one else will take It so I guess I just pretend I’m like a super hero, picking up garbage, stabbing paper, sweeping dirt. EVERY-DAY. I guess it’s ok I mean I’m in the most beautiful city in the world. Paris. People here are pretty good at keeping the city clean but some days, I just want to scream.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning as I swept the streets beneath the Eiffel tower, just barely lit up by the sun rising on the horizons. I swept the last of the dirt and grass off of the pavement just as my watch showed six. I sat down on the side of the road and pulled an orange from beneath my coat. I huddled against the morning wind that had started to blow, wishing I had a nice cup of tea, I slowly peeled the orange and slowly split it in half, carefully wrapping one half up in my handkerchief stowing it in my jacket for dinner. Oh and I forgot to mention, I’m homeless.

It is hard being invisible, I know. Once when I had been homeless for about six months, I asked a woman if she wanted help with her groceries, she asked the man next to me if he would help her. I actually felt as though she had punched me in the chest. I know I look strange in my ragged trench coat, thread bear jeans and limp black t-shirt, but I’m still human! I know they think I’ll rob them or steal their wallet, but I’m not like that! I wished I hadn’t brought that up, now I feel resentment to that woman. Maybe that man next to me was her husband or son. I don’t know. Anyway returning to reality upon hearing  approaching footsteps I quickly got up from the curb and picked up my broom, ad resumed sweeping my beloved street. Of course it would be nice if a lady would talk to me.  I’d tip my hat and she would smile. Of course I would need a hat to do such a thing..  ah well. As I sweep the last of the dirt onto a pile, I spot a white piece of paper stinking out among the dust and grime. I slowly pick It up and read it carefully, it seems to be a business card. It reads “ Belle Carter. Occupation, Writer. Number, 087-992-9237. Call if you have a story to tell the world”

And there you have it Belle, that is why I am here, to tell my story to the world.

Wheelbarrow

I waded through the rubble of my destroyed house. All of our pictures, our passports, and our most priced possessions. Gone, gone and lost in the rubble of the house we had lived in for thirteen years. Gone. My wife’s screaming still rung in my ear along with the howling of the wind from the hurricane that destroyed everything. I was still shaking, I had to find my wife, my children. I was walking as fast as I dared, in-case I stepped on something we could save, though nothing caught my eye I still scanned the large blocks of our house for some sign that we had once lived there. Just as I was going to turn away from what lay ahead, a movement caught my eye. I walked as fast as I dared and carefully pulled away the rubble. And there was my son, five years old and still here. I sighed in relief and picked him up, trying not to notice the large gash in his head. “Sammy. You alright? Nod if you can hear me.” I choked a laugh of relief back as he slowly opened his eyes and nodded slowly, and then snapped them shut. I knew he wouldn’t talk while he was in shock and had blood running down his head, but I was thankful he could nod nonetheless. I hoisted him up onto my back and continued walking. I had no idea how the whole family had gotten separated, we were in the storm shelter when it hit, but now I had been more than five feet away from where Sam was. I tried to think of where everyone else would be, and if they were alive. I saw a flash of gold hair and an orange t-shirt as my daughter pulled herself up out of the dirt and pieces of wall that were on top of her. “Susan! Are you alright!?” my heart dropped as she shook her head and pushed what looked like our fridge off her legs, one of which was bent at an extreme angle. I walked over to her and said “are you hurt other than your leg?” I asked in a calm voice. “ I’m sure I am, just a little scratch here and there.” She replied in the same calm tone. She noticed her brother on my back and smiled at Sammy, though his eyes were closed he said “hi sissy. Look” and he pointed to his head. Her smile faltered and she replied in a reassuring voice  “it’s nothing the doctors can’t fix Sam.”  She turned back to me. “Dad. Do you think you could carry another one?” I looked her up and down and said “I think we can manage.” As I put out my hands to pull her up she said “no not me. Joe. He’s fine but he wasn’t wearing shoes when the storm hit, and with all the glass and such I figured he shouldn’t walk.” And then after seeing my face she quickly added “I would carry him myself but” she gestured to her leg. I nodded and said “where is Joe?” she motioned to a large piece of ceiling “we sheltered under there after the house came down. He’s sleeping right now. I’ll get him” she slowly crawled under the ceiling and pulled out a motionless seven year old and handed him to me. I held him on my chest and asked “how do you propose we get you out?” she pointed to the rusted wheelbarrow next to her. “I can climb in that if you can push me.” I agreed and a few minutes later we were off to find my wife…if there was anything left to find… 

Minimalist

Becoming a Minimalist

I have too much stuff. And I HATE it. It’s not even all mine, either. It’s my sisters and my mothers and my future kid’s. I have about 15 things in this house that are mine. I know I should get rid of it. I mean come on. I’m the only wannabe minimalist in my family, and they just don’t understand why I would want to throw away “perfectly good shoes for your future children to wear” I rolled my eyes when my sister said it then and I roll my eyes now. I thought if I showed her and my mother what a disaster my house was they would take some of the things they had dumped on me and take them home, or better take them to the charity shop. Only the plan backfired On me. “well you can’t get rid of your prom dress Isabel. Your daughter might want to walk in her mother’s footsteps. And how do you expect her to do so if she doesn’t have your dress?” she fingered the dress in question. “Izzy you should just buy some vacuum bags if you think their taking up room. That’s what I did and it’s like I barely have them!” called my sister Julie from the other side of my basement, lost in the sea of clutter.  I opened and closed my mouth for lack of words then spluttered “that’s the point! I don’t want them AT ALL.” I was waving my hands again like I do when I’m trying to get someone to understand what I’m trying to say. My mother gave me a stern look, and I knew I wasn’t getting through to her “now Isabel. These have been in the family for generations!” she swept her hand toward a large bag of marbles that I was planning to sell on eBay, and said “and you want to want to just GIVE them to some random stranger who won’t even know their history?” I resisted the urge to scream “YES!! I WANT THEM TO BE SOMEONE ELSE’S PROBLEM!” instead I merely nodded and said “I don’t have a use for marbles, mom, nor do I have any children to clothe with my old school clothes and prom dresses. And you know I want NONE of these shoes, or pictures, or freaking lampshades! I just want to be able to grab a backpack with all my priced objects inside and then catch a plane to Paris or the Bahamas.” Julie shook her head and sighed “Izzy. I know your motto.” I blurted it out before I could stop myself “’Less Mess, Less Stress’!” She rolled her eyes and said “yeah that. But think! With all these things you can see where you come from!” she’s a lot like our mother, Julie is. I’m more like my dad. He hated mom’s obsession with keeping memorabilia. I’m pretty sure that’s why he left; of course they never actually got divorce. Just one morning mom came to my room and said “your fathers gone. What do you want for breakfast?” “OK so here is what’s going to go down. I’m going to pack all this crap up in my van and haul it to the closest goodwill. So you two can either add to the throw away pile or bring what you want to your houses. Either way this junk is going to be out of my house by tomorrow morning. So if you want to go buy it back be my guest but I’m going to say I tried to stop you when they find your rotting bodies underneath your mountains of SHIT.”

Well on the bright side I have only MY things in my house now, nothing but the carpet in the basement, and I made enough money selling the valuable stuff on EBay I can pay for that trip to Jamaica I have wanted forever. On the other hand I think I have been disowned by both my mother and my sister after my little outburst. Which is totally fine with me, I don’t want to be weighed down by drama anymore.

JAMAICA HERE I COME!

 

Flip-Flops

Flip-Flops

I could not wait to go to the beach! The sun was shining, the seagulls were cawing and the waves were crashing on the shore. I had spent all morning picking out my outfit, my favorite tank top with bright reds and oranges mixed in with the blue flowers, along with my favorite skirt, denim and peace signs. And of course you can’t go to the beach without flip-flops!  I had my cool new ones on with the tiger stripes and hearts on them. I glanced at the time and jumped. I was almost late! I grabbed my shades and my towel and headed to my truck…

I lay on the beach and felt the sun burn into my skin, the sound of boys laughing as girls screamed at the dead fish they had put in the sand, I was so relaxed and so peaceful that even when my ears detected the sound of a car pulling up in the parking lot, I thought nothing of it. Until…  “Juliet! You get in this car right now!” called a high, crazed voice. I closed my eyes tighter and hoped she wouldn’t see me from the car and leave, but then I never counted on my mother coming down into the sand with her totally to big sun hat,  denim overalls that were sliding off so you could see the ‘save the planet, it’s the only one we’ve got!’ t-shirt underneath, her well worn plain blue flip-flops slapped menacingly against the sidewalk. I sunk lower into my towel and willed the sand to cover me but to no luck; I heard mom muttering “kids…never tell…don’t know what her father will say…” I then decided that instead of letting her handpick me from the crowd I silently picked up my towel and moved slowly to the car. And then came the lecture. “No homework done, rooms a pit, cell phone off! I have to say, when your father gets home, oho your in for it madam!”  I wasn’t scared I mean my mom and dad have tried just about every punishment possible; grounding, taking a way my stuff, and so on but it never works, my dads a softy at heart. Mom, she has a different parenting style every week. One week I’ll “learn from my mistakes” the next some other strange technique is in place, so again. I’m not worried.  “I know, I know. I’m grounded for a week right? Taking away my computer? No staying up past ten?” my mother looked at me angrily, which, for my mother, is not hard to do. First of all she is shorter than me and my dad; also she’s gotten this light brown flyaway hair that, underneath her sunhat makes her look like professor sprout in Harry Potter. Then she’s got these wild gray eyes that change color when she’s happy or sad.  Then without a word she turned and yelled to the beach “THIS IS MY DAUGHTER! JULIET DEER! AND SHE SLEPT WITH A TEDDY BEAR UNTIL SHE WAS THRTEEN!!!” she turned back to me and upon seeing my red face, smiled and said “yeah the usual stuff.”

When we got home I stormed off to my  room and slammed the door as hard as I could, causing my pictures to fall to the floor. I growled at them and sat in my desk. My mom had made it pretty clear that she was upping her game, and that if I didn’t shape up, I would be the laughing stock of the school. I paced my room and sat down again. I was eager for revenge. And I knew just how to get it. I need to ask dad where to get some wine and some super glue….

Clock

CLOCK 

I had just moved into my new apartment in Seattle, finished unpacking the last box of useless junk (must get rid of that by the way) and hung the last of the posters and sunk down onto my new neon green futon. When the doorbell rings. I sighed and, with great effort, hauled myself out of the futon. I went to the door and barked “what!?” and without an answer my sister comes barging in, huge handbag swinging gaily from her arm,  shades balancing on her freshly  cut blond hair and an absurd amount of makeup plastered on her face. “Hey there Jo! Jeez! Is that what you wear for company? Tut tut. Mom would be ashamed of you.” She turned around as though to admire my apartment, making sure I didn’t miss her new knee high boots and skinny jeans with a probably real leather jacket to make the thing come together. “not exactly new York style but it will do for you!” she turned again to the wall next to the kitchen “wow, why do you still have dads old clock? I mean come on!” I looked at the shabby old clock and smiled. I knew what she meant. The background was peeling and some cracks had started to appear, it signaled it was 12 pm but made no noise at all. The hands looked as though at the slightest breeze they would crumble to dust. There were two holes where it looked like you would wind it but I’ve never had to so far. “I like it Clair. Now if you could please admire the other side of my door. I’m a bit tired”