come up later on in=
the night and she would approach the car on the drivers side and sh=
oot him in the head.Nothing more was said as the lady's exit the res=
troom.
Cindy Sheffield
I didn’t mean to hurt him
Kyle and I were best friends throughout our teens and well into our
twenties. Our friendship survived him going off to college and becoming a
successful businessman while I immediately went into the business world upon
our high school graduation. Many nights were spent out with our group of
friends taking in a movie, going to clubs, singing karaoke or hanging at
someone’s house playing poker or watching a movie.
A little over a year ago while out having lunch with my sister, I met =
Tom
as we stood in front of the salad bar. Big blue eyes, sandy blonde hair and=
a
few inches taller than myself. He seemed a tad shy, but that all went away =
when
he turned to go back to his seat and proceeded to dump his salad, dressing =
and
all, down my blouse. <=
/p>
I wasn’t prepared for him to apologize with a tear in his eyes
before he ran into the nearest department store and proceeded to buy me this
vintage t-shirt that said “I’m beautiful, go away” with a
picture of Smurfette on it. Now, tell me, how could one be mad with him ove=
r a
spilled salad plate when he goes and does something like that.
So I allowed him to pay for our lunch and agreed to a date with him la=
ter
in the week.
That was the beginning of the end for Kyle and I, only back then, I
didn’t know it. <=
/p>
I was interested in Tom from the get go and as he and I got to know ea=
ch
other more, we began to introduce each other into each other’s worlds.
Our friend and our families, hobbies, interests and the like.
Kyle began to ignore us, rather me after a group of us went to a baseb=
all
game in the city and Tom and I, instead of staying in our seats, had walked
around the stadium as Tom explained to me how he grew up loving baseball
because of his grandfather. After the game, we had all planned on going to a
local diner for a late night snack, but Kyle took me aside and simply said =
that
he wasn’t going because he was sick of feeling like a fifth wheel. Um,
okay… that was a first. I tried not to show my hurt and disappointmen=
t,
but Tom knew something was wrong as we tagged along with the others.
Tom and I talked on the way home and Tom thought that perhaps Kyle was
jealous of our relationship. I flat out denied that and almost became angry
with Tom for suggesting it, but I held my tongue.
After we said goodnight and I went into my apartment, I checked my
voicemail to have one from Kyle. He was upset and asked if we could talk so=
I
called him back right away.<=
/p>
I was not prepared for what happened next. Instead of talking on the
phone, he came over and poured his heart out to me. I was floored. When he
declared his love for me was more than friendship, my heart sunk. I never
thought of him as more than a friend and I explained that to him.
I didn’t mean to hurt him like that. Kyle got up and left. I gave
him a few days to calm down as I told Tom everything that transpired and we
both agreed that it was best if I didn’t try to contact Kyle. I had h=
oped
that he would have contacted me, but he never did.
A month had passed and I finally tried to email him at work, only the
email came back as undeliverable. I called his parents and his mom explaine=
d he
had taken another job elsewhere and that I should try calling him.
I tried. Several times. I received a voicemail at work one day from him
asking me to please stop calling him and to leave him and his family alone.=
I was heartbroken. I thought that we could still have remained friends=
. He
was my best friend. I was desperate to talk with him. Not just about what h=
ad
happened between us, but about everything going on in our lives.
That’s when I realized that because I had moved on and into a
serious relationship with Tom that Kyle couldn’t accept it.
I broke down and called Kyle’s mother and asked to talk with her.
When I explained what had happened between Kyle and I she had explained his
depression and why he had left town. He had told her his side of the story =
and
she had held judgement of me until she had heard mine.
I had indeed hurt him. While we were not what I would justify in a
romantic relationship, he believed that we were.
I had never hurt someone like that before in my life. I apologized to =
his
mother and gave her a letter to give him when she felt he could handle it a=
nd
went on with my life.<=
/p>
Today, as I get ready to walk down the aisle and marry Tom, I can acce=
pt
the fact that Kyle and I are no longer friends, but I still miss him. I rea=
lly
wished he would be here and support me, but it’s not meant to be.
I only hope that someday he’ll realize that I didn’t mean =
to
hurt him.
Tamm
~ The Impossi=
ble
Dream ~
It used to be
part of "the dream"
once upon a time
The one that had a family
from a picket fence behind
Ever since I =
was
a girl
it had been part of my dream
But as I grew up I soon discovered
that nothing is as it seems
For while I w=
atch
the world pass by
with girls so much younger
Pregnant or with toddlers in tow
it always made me wonder -
How or why wa=
s I
singled out
never to be blessed
With the birth of a child
to bring me happiness?
It used to hu=
rt
incredibly
to see those girls become
Something I knew I'd never be,
the chance to be a mum.
But somehow i=
t no
longer does
and I wonder what has changed?
For even after all these years
I thought I stayed the same.
But as I look
around me now
what is it that I see?
Where is the love, where is the care,
and respect of society?
What has happ=
ened
to this world,
why is it such a mess?
What have we done to our children
with whom we had been blessed?
Where are the
simple rules of life
that we all grew up with,
And why is it that we toss away
all we see now as myths?
The parental =
hand
of discipline
has been taken away
And now we wonder why we have
troublesome kids today?
It seems that
hand was deemed inept
labelled as abuse,
But kids still need a guiding hand
if not, then what's the use?!
I'm sorry but=
I
cannot see
the point of what's become
Parental rights and children's rights,
but in the end - who's won?
All I can say
looking upon
motherhood today,
Is that I'm glad I have been spared
of unnecessary heartache
If I had chil=
dren
I would want
to raise them as my own
But it seems to be they're just shadows
of society's clones.
It's sad to s=
ee
so much has changed
since I had had that dream,
It was a dream, an impossible dream,
and always will be to me.
© Christ=
ina
aka Stina
I didn’t mean=
to
hurt him
His name was Richie=
. He
had blonde curly hair and blue eyes I could get lost in
He was my first col=
lege
sweetheart and he truly had my heart.
We met one day, bef=
ore
a guitar class. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was there tr=
ying
hard to tune my guitar and he walked over and asked if I needed help, I loo=
ked
at him and said yes. I remember all too well how clueless I was with =
the
guitar and remember looking at him, thinking he was really cute. His =
hair
seemed as if it was made of gold itself. He started to tune the guita=
r,
when the high E broke, I felt so awful. He looked at me and told me n=
ot
to worry he had another string. To say I was surprised was an
understatement.
I forgot to mention
something that made us look like a strange couple. I’m 5 foot 10
inches; he stood all of 5 foot 2 inches. He came to about, ummmmmmmm,=
my
breasts; I don’t think he minded that at all, tee hee.
We were so gaga over
each other it was really cute. I think about it now and wish I knew w=
hat
was going to happen.
Someone else out of=
my
past showed up one day at my college, someone who told me he wouldn’t
date me if I were the last woman in the world. Well, I started dating
both of them. Looking back I really wish I hadn’t. While Richie=
was
a really sweet, wonderful man, Peter was an asshole who should have married=
his
van and car. He was the worse thing and I do mean a think I could have
even seen or had part of my life.
One day I broke up =
with
Richie, I’ve had never cried so much in my life but I felt like I had
something with Peter. Would you believe a few years later I ran into
Richie and told him I still loved him but alas, the spark was gone.
Richie, sweetie, I
never meant to hurt you, I’m happy now with the same man for over 20
years but I’ll admit, there are days I hope you are happy too.
Marie Kathryn
Casalaspro
August 20, 2007
Memories of Us<=
/p>
I'll alw=
ays
remember that first day we met. When my eyes met yours, I felt myself
melt into your sexy brown eyes. Of course, at the time, that was not =
my
intention. I had decided to take a break from the male population.&nb=
sp;
In my eyes, they were all jerks and only out for something that I would not
give them.
As the n=
ext
couple of weeks went by, once in awhile I would run into you in the hall, a=
nd
say hi, but that was it. Then one day, when you invited me to your little
barbecue, I thought what the heck, what have I got to lose? During the
rest of that afternoon, I kept trying to find a reason to cancel.
Later th=
at
day, after I got home from work, I was in my room relaxing when you knocked=
on
the door. Imagine my surprise when you put a bag of groceries in my h=
ands
and asked me to carry them outside. It still makes me smile when I th=
ink
of that.
The barb=
ecue
went amazingly well, although I was nervous. I hadn't been on a date =
for
a while, so I was surprised to find myself relaxing as you barbecued the st=
eak
and grilled the potatoes. It was an enjoyable meal. Right up to=
the
point when you looked at me and said "and I have wine chilling in my
room."
A little
while later, I helped you carry everything up to your room. It was a
typical bachelor type room. After you put everything away, I remember=
you
taking your shirt off and laying back on your bed, reaching out to me. =
; As
shy as I was at the time, I remember that in the flash of a bullet, I =
was
out that door and back in my room.
Sheena
Admirer
The school bell rang. Time to cha=
nge
classes again. I dash to my locker and turn the dial of the lock. What was =
the
combination code again? After the third try I finally hear the familiar cli=
ck
and the locker door pops open.
Just as I dump my books on the top shelf, something catches my eye…a
foreign folded piece of paper stares at me from the shelf. I grab it and be=
fore
attempting to open it, I check my watch which tells me there’s no tim=
e to
read it now. I grab the next set of books that I need instead and off I go =
to
the next class period.
During class when I am supposed to be listening, I quietly open the paper. =
To
my delight, it’s another note from my secret admirer. The sweet words
flow from the paper to my mind to my heart. I kind of wonder if it is a joke
while hoping it isn’t.
A couple of weeks pass bringing me more of these wonderfully sweet notes and
still no sign of the author. I wonder who it could be. Glancing around the
halls between classes and lunch periods provides not a single clue.
One morning, I head to my locker as usual. The combination lock isn’t
cooperating with me again and I try it now three, four, five times. Finally=
it
clicks and I pop the door open. My jawl drops when I check the shelf. My se=
cret
admirer has somehow found my combination. There on the edge of my shelf sit=
s an
adorable minature teddy bear holding my next message. My heart melts and the
sun seems to shine a bit brighter. I wonder how he got my combination, but =
at
this point it no longer matters. A quick view of the note reveals a meeting
request that I know I’ll never forget.
After school, I wait across the street at the designated place and eye every
student who walks in my direction. Finally, I spot him, the only one walking
toward me with sheer determination.
That meeting turned into another =
and
another until my sweet friend moved across the country and we lost touch, b=
ut I
will never forget the fond memory that he left me.
Beth Casey
Ode to boobs
They spark a man's imagination,
Lead to a woman's frustration,
The topic of many a conversation,
it's the symbolic representation,
Of a woman's configuration.
Robbie
The Heritage© - Part One&nb=
sp;
Joelle was afraid. Late that eve=
ning
as she sat in her darkened living room, she remembered the events of the pa=
st
six months. She worked as a receptionist for a large Manhattan bank. One
morning an old man walked from the safety deposit box section of the bank a=
nd
approached her desk. He had a deathly pale look and appeared rather frighte=
ned
as he held his coat closely over his chest, acting as if he wanted to hide =
what
was held underneath. But before Joelle could ask how she could help him, the
old man suddenly clutched his chest and fell forwards over her desk scatter=
ing
everything on it. She jumped up and screamed, echoed by the screams of the
clients who witnessed the scene. One of her work mates ran over and felt for
the man's jugular vein, but he looked up and shook his head. The manager ca=
me
out of his office when he heard the screaming and asked his secretary to ca=
ll
the fire rescue. This was a matter that he wanted cleared up as quickly as
possible. The bank's guards guided curious onlookers away from the receptio=
nist
desk and one of them threw a large raincoat over the body sprawled on the d=
esk.
When the rescue squad arrived, they confirmed that the man was indeed dead =
and
indicated that they would bring the man to the morgue themselves where a he
would have to be identified as he had no papers on him.
As waited for clients, Joelle
noticed a flat paper wrapped packet along the wall in a corner of the
receptionists' section. It was long and narrow; it had no label on it, no
indication of its owner. It may have been dropped by a client coming from t=
he
safety deposit box section downstairs as he/she came up to the ground level.
She didn't know what to do until she noticed a thinly pencilled writing on =
the
brown paper. It said: <=
/p>
"Property of Mrs Clarisse
Martin, Arlington Arms Apartments …" and gave a residential addr=
ess
in Manhattan.
Joelle looked at her watch. It w=
as
almost noon. She went to the manager, told him about the packet and decided=
to
spend her lunch hour looking for this address, as it was right in the same
neighbourhood as the bank, which was on the edge of the business area and
served mostly the residents who lived in the large apartment buildings. As =
she
waited for her noon replacement, a colleague who had already eaten, she put=
on
her coat and put the packet in her large carry bag. When the girl arrived, =
she
smiled and told her when she would return. It was a blustery windy afternoo=
n.
Joelle walked in the direction of the main residential area, walking a few
blocks before she found the street, then turned left to follow the numbers =
on
the buildings. "Here," she said aloud to herself. "It's right
here." She arrived at a street awning that announced the name of the
building it led to: "Arlington Arms Apartments." &nbs=
p;
<=
/p>
Holding her bag close, Joelle we=
nt
through the heavy glass doors into a shadowy hallway. Facing her was a disp=
lay
of some thirty buzzers, each with a resident's name next to it. She stepped=
up
close and read each name but there was no Clarisse Martin anywhere. As she =
left
the building and walked back to the bank, Joelle decided to take advantage =
of
the bank's special database codes, used to investigate personal backgrounds=
of
the clients. These top secret codes were used under important specific
circumstances and allowed confidential research into the national populatio=
n database.
Joelle spent every night researc=
hing
after dinner in the privacy of her miniscule apartment. She delved into
hundreds of files, checking every single name. There was no Clarisse Martin
listed anywhere. Every night Joelle hid the box deep among her woollen swea=
ters
in her bedroom closet, and each time she returned from work she spent hours
agonizing over what to do, if she should just turn the box over to the poli=
ce
and letting them take over. Maybe she should just keep it and forget about =
it.
This went on for two weeks and it was taking its toll on her.
Sitting there in the darkened ro=
om,
afraid and stressed out, Joelle found it impossible to resist the temptatio=
n to
open the packet. Sitting down in the large overstuffed chair she turned on =
the
bright stand lamp that stood next to it. Laying the narrow packet on her kn=
ees;
she opened it carefully, not wanting to tear the paper wrapping. It was a b=
lack
velvet box, the kind used by jewellery shops for necklaces, bracelets and t=
he
like. Joelle held the flat box in her hand. It felt soft to the touch, yet
seemed much heavier than she realized. Lifting the cover with two hands, she
stared in shock. Inside was a magnificent ruby necklace with matching earri=
ngs.
Taking out the necklace, which contained one large ruby with tiny rubies on
both sides all the way up to the thick golden clasp, Joelle caressed the
stones. The earrings each contained a row of three rubies attached to one l=
arge
drop ruby. The whole was of a rich crimson red which blended well with=
the
gold chain. Placing the necklace back in its place, she noticed a tiny tag
stuck in between the top layer and the cover. She pried it out with a letter
opener. It was the label of the jewellery shop where the set originated fro=
m.
The print was tiny and very faded. With a magnifying glass she went back
underneath the bright light and read <=
/p>
&n=
bsp;
"Samuel Marlowe and Sons, makers of fine jewellery since 1920, New York
City"
As she sat there, Joelle felt her
body shudder with fear. She just couldn't sit there any more; she needed to
take action, go to this shop and give the beautiful set back to them. She'd
give a little information on how she happened to have it and they could do
whatever they wanted with it. Yes, she'd do that. As Joelle thought about i=
t,
she felt a great load lift off her shoulders. She decided to call in sick t=
he
next day knowing the manager would understand. These decisions greatly
comforted her and bolstered her courage to do everything she could to get t=
his
problem solved not only for the bank but also for herself, and to here that=
was
the most important thing. <=
/p>
©Joanne Pons The Heri=
tage
(Part One), August 31, 2007 <=
/p>
The Heritage© - Part Two
The next day all went according =
to
plan. Joelle found herself at the central post office as she needed to look=
up
the exact address of the jewellery shop. The agent nodded and gave her the
directions, saying that she'd have to take a taxi to the place as it was
located in central New York City. Thanking the agent, she went out and walk=
ed
towards the edge of the sidewalk, raising her arm to hail a passing taxi. It
was going to be expensive, but absolutely necessary. A taxi stopped in fron=
t of
her and she indicated where she wanted to go. The ride went smoothly; the
weather was overcast and damp, giving subtle signs here and there of rain in
the air. Finally the taxi stopped in front of a large glass-fronted jewelle=
ry
shop, its windows glistening with jewellery of every kind and style and in
every stone imaginable. Joelle paid the driver, got out and headed for the
shop's double doors. A doorman held one of them open and a richly dressed
couple entered in while a fur-coated lady with a peacock feather in her hat
waited her turn to step out. Nodding to the man, she entered the brightly l=
it
foyer and hesitated a moment, not knowing where to go. A smiling saleswoman
approached and asked if she could help her. Joelle was at a loss how to begi=
n.
"Yes, thank you. This box (presenting the black velvet box) was found =
at
the bank where I work and we would like to return it to its proper
owners."
"I see," said the woma=
n.
"They could be a part of a heritage (Joelle shrugged), then they are
surely valuable." Turning to a man standing in one of the corners, she
waved him over. Mr. Maxwell, would you please direct this client to Mr.
Bellow's office. Thank you. He turned to Joelle and indicated that she was =
to
follow him. They went in the direction of a serious of doors hidden behind =
an
opaque glass wall. <=
/p>
"Here we are," the man
murmured. He knocked at a door further down the corridor and received a
distinct reply. Opening the door a crack, the man said a few words to someo=
ne
in side and turned to Joelle. <=
/p>
"You may enter, Ma'am,"=
; he
said.
"Thank you," Joelle
replied.
She walked into the tiny office.=
A
stern looking middle aged man with thick horned-rimmed glasses was sitting
behind a perfectly clean desk. He looked up, introduced himself and asked w=
hat
he could do for her. <=
/p>
Lifting the black box out of her
large hand bag, Joelle stuttered, and then began again.
"My name is Joelle Hamilton=
and
I would like to know if you could help me find the owners of the jewellry in
this box which was found at the bank where I work." She put the box on=
the
desk in front of the man. His eyes widened behind the thick eyeglasses as he
opened the box. "Oooh, what a magnificent set we have here!" He
exclaimed. At the same time he opened an invisible drawer and took out a pa=
ir
of white gloves used by jewellers and art commissioners for handling delica=
te
pieces of jewellery and other fine art pieces. Mr. Bellow, suddenly remembe=
ring
Joelle's presence in front of him, indicated that she should have a seat in=
the
chair in front of the desk. He pulled out a thick metal tray and slowly took
the beautiful crimson red ruby necklace out of the box and placed it on the
tray. It glistened blood red in the bright desk light. Opening a flat drawe=
r in
front of him the man took out a jeweller's magnifier and leaned over =
the
large ruby. He did the same with each earring and even examined the golden
clasp. At last he straightened up and appeared a bit agitated.
"This rare set to another a=
ge
and it is evaluated at $750,000." He looked directly at Joelle. She sa=
t in
shocked silence, her hand over her mouth. "That much?"
She continued, "The manager=
of
the bank was right in thinking it would have raised problems if we went to =
the
police. He insisted that I make a special trip here and see if we could find
the original owners quietly without raising too many questions; he was sure=
ly
worried about the reputation of his bank." Taking out the brown paper =
from
her bag, she pointed Clarisse Martin's pencilled-in name. "This is the
only indication we have of who the owner might be."
"We have a policy of keeping
records of all items purchased in this shop, the origins of the stones, and=
so
on. As far as I can estimate, this particular set appears to have been made
some 70 years ago, as seen by the way the stones are set and the markings on
the golden clasp. Please excuse me while I check with the records departmen=
t.
We may have to dig into the older microfilmed files." He got stiffly o=
ut
of his chair, opened the door and went out. After what appeared to be a long
time Joelle heard the door behind her open and heard a rustling of papers as
Mr. Bellow closed the door and plopped down in front of his desk.
"The records we have of the
purchase have had to be dusted out and digitally integrated in our computer
files. Let me see…this set consists of a ruby necklace and matching
earrings, custom made in the Empire style. It was bought by a Mr. Philip Ma=
rtin
on January 31 st, 1932, as an anniversary gift for his wife,
Clarisse. Our records include two certificates of death dated July 15, 1937,
for Mr. Philip Martin and another one for Mrs. Clarisse Martin. They were
killed in an automobile accident. These documents were required by the
authorities to verify the fact that they did own this set. Another legal fo=
rm
signed by their solicitor mentions that this set is to go to their daughter,
Joyce Clarisse, who, the solicitor states in red ink, as she was a child of
five years of age, was legally adopted by her maternal uncle, John Williams=
and
his wife Mary." Mr. Bellow stopped speaking and suddenly looked up at
Joelle, who was sucking in her breath at each word she heard. She had become
very pale.
"Are you all right, Miss
Hamilton?" He frowned and asked again, "Would you like a glass of
water?" <=
/p>
"Oooh, yes please a glass of
water. Joelle felt like she was going to faint; she leaned over and put her
hands on her burning face, unable to contain herself any more.
"My mother refused to tell =
me
about her origins, about her parents, my grandparents, about herself, not e=
ven
that she had a middle name. When she died she took her secret with her to t=
he
grave."
"Your mother, Miss Hamilton?
What secret are you talking about?"<=
/p>
"What I am trying, Mr. Bell=
ow,
to say is that Joyce Clarisse Martin Williams Hamilton is my mother. She ne=
ver
gave her five children (I am the youngest) any indication about her early
childhood. She always considered the Williams as her parents; maybe because
they couldn't have any children they wanted her to forget about her real
parents. She just told us that the aunt wanted to control her life so much =
that
it got to the point that when she was 18 she ran away from home and dropped=
all
contact with them. She was 60 years old when she died two years ago of brea=
st
cancer." Suddenly Joelle sat up, remembering the old man who clasped on
her desk at the bank. Where does he fit in the puzzle?
Joelle desperately wanted to fil=
l in
the missing pieces of the puzzle. The only way she could find out was to ca=
ll
the police in behalf of the bank. <=
/p>
"Please excuse me a moment,=
I
must make an important phone call," she said to a very perplexed Mr.
Bellow and took out her cell phone. She called the secretary of the bank to=
ask
if she knew anything about the identity of the man who clasped in the bank =
last
year. She would know, as she witnessed the manager being questioned about t=
he
man's connections with the bank, if he had a safety deposit box, etc. It was
confirmed by employees that the man did have a box at the bank, and witness=
es
did see him downstairs to the safety box section on the day he died. The box
was found after examination to be completely empty. No one knew who he was;=
he
went to the section by himself and used his own key. It didn't occur to any=
one
to connect him with the packet Joelle found underneath her desk later on th=
at
morning.
"Thank you so much, Anne; I
really appreciate your giving me this information," Joelle clicked off=
her
cell and looked at Mr. Bellow. <=
/p>
"His name was John Williams,
was 90 years old."<=
/p>
"Who do mean, Miss Hamilton=
?"
"An old man clasped
and died right over my desk six months ago. He apparently had taken this box
out of his safety deposit box and surely intended giving it to me as he knew
who I was. He was my great uncle John Williams. He wanted to give me what he
felt was rightly mine: my mother's inheritance."
Joelle let the terrible reality =
of
it this discovery wash over her, realizing that so much time was wasted, th=
at
the man lived in Clarisse's Arlington Arms apartment, not too far from the =
bank
and she never knew it. During the ten years she worked at the bank she never
knew a ver close relative of her own mother was living so close, so near. <=
/span>
"Well, then, Miss Hamilton,
this information means that this priceless box is yours; you are its rightf=
ul owner."
"Thank you, Mr. Bellow. I
really appreciate your help, more than you'll ever know."
Mr. Bellows escorted Joelle out =
of
the office to the door of the shop. She smiled and walked in the direction =
of
the taxi stand. As fear fell off her shoulders like a great weight, she beg=
an
to feel a flowing wave of peace and fulfilment. ©Joa=
nne
Pons, August 31, 2007