"The Silence is Deafening"

To Mom. I'll miss you forever.

She was strong, though she thought herself weak. She was beautiful, though she thought herself ugly. She was surrounded by friends and admirers, though she often felt alone. She was loved and respected.

She was a single mom on welfare who only wanted a better life for her kids. She was an active member of her community, a ready helper to anyone who needed it, a smiling face ready for a chat.

Though she suffered from depression, she presented the world with a cheerful attitude. She was always eager to lend an ear or a shoulder, or give a big hug. She encouraged her kids without being pushy, even when they were determined to be a drama major. And she loved to talk.

Happiness was a cup of tea and a good long chat with a friend. But if she couldn't have that, she'd chat anywhere, with anyone, often for hours. Not in a gossipy fashion - more often she was bragging about her kids latest adventures. There was nothing mean-spirited about her - she truely cared for the people around her.

Life was not easy, money was not free-flowing, and a battle with compulsions and depression raged within her mind. But she was a survivor, and being a mom meant the world to her. Her kids were her pride and joy and she did everything she could for them.

She loved Christmas, music and laughter. She loved life, even though it wasn't terribly kind. And though she often embarrased her kids by starting conversations with complete strangers, right now, they'd do anything to be standing awkwardly by her side while she told the check-out girl all about his new wife, her play, his adventures in foreign lands. They'd do anything to hear her prattle on about the inventory at work, and how many t-shirts sold today. They'd do anything to hear her voice again because now it's gone.

And the silence is deafening.

Midnight

Midnight. The witching hour. That moment when the clocks hands come together at 12. The change of days. One day ends - click- the next day begins. One moment that signifies beginning, middle and end. Perhaps that is why we are fascinated by it, enthralled by it's power. It is the halfway point between dusk and dawn - darkness half over. Darkness most full, most complete. The sun is furthest away, it's light and warmth fully retreated from us.

Midnight is when the other world opens up. When most are snuggly in bed sleeping soundly, the secrets creep forth, the others walk among us. Death comes calling, pestilence spreads it's wings, fear sets boldly forth. Monsters stalk the shadows, waiting for unweary passers by. Midnight is a time of shadows, of hauntings, of the unknown.

Midnight is a time of loneliness. Lonely people walk or sit or lie alone, watching the seconds pass. Waiting for the lonely hours to while away. Hoping that the coming day, the coming light and dawn will bring with it company. Companionship. An end to lonely midnights.

As yet Untitled

Somedays she felt as though she were banging her head against a wall. A boring, meaningless, repeditive action that would slowly kill her, turning her brain to mush. Other days, she felt like she was swimming up stream against a strong current. Constantly pushing forward with all of her strength but never gaining any ground, and if she paused, even for a millisecond to catch her breath, she was swept backwards, loosing everything she'd worked so hard for.

She'd gone to university, like you're supposed to. She'd graduated with honours, like you're supposed to. Heck, she'd even gotten involved in clubs and student politics to show how well rounded and interesting she was - all like you're supposed to. But now she was stuck filing stacks of paper and photocopying bigger stacks of paper, trying to make enough money to make her student loan payments, which seemed all the more insulting because who needs a university degree to press the button on a photocopier!

She kept her resume updated and kept her skills fresh, applying to better jobs when they came along, but nothing ever worked out. She received endless advice from anyone and everyone who felt they knew what the problem was. She tried everything that made sense, and even some that didn't, just in case.

Then one day, she screamed, "Screw it! Fuck this city, Fuck EVERYTHING!!!".

And then she packed her bags and moved halfway around the world, and she felt much better.

First Kiss

First kiss? What's the point? Why bother. You share a beautiful, tender moment like that with somebody, and then what happens? They make you promises, they tell you about the wonderful future you will share together, and when you let down your guard and allow yourself to believe, they tear your heart out and stomp all over it.

I mean, really, what is the point? Nothing lasts forever - nothing lasts long at all. Another girl walks by and he'll follow her off, share a first kiss with her.

First kisses mean nothing, except the beginning of the end. Before the Kiss, everything is possible, everything is an anticipation. Once you kiss it's just a long slide down to heartbreak and heartache.

Don't kiss - that's too intimate. You set yourself up for hurt if you kiss. Just fuck 'em. Like the pros do it. Just fuck them for the pleasure of a fuck and don't ever kiss because the instant you kiss them, or look into their eyes, they take that power over you and they will crush you with false dreams.

So just fuck them because it feels good to fuck, and walk away, and keep your heart safe.

Under Lock and Key

She bent down to pick up the box at her feet - it was about the size of a shoe box, but rather heavy. She placed the wooden box on the table and and dragged a finger across the carving on the top. The scene was of a long ago battle, or perhaps a battle that had never taken place; men and horses and swords featured prominently. It was not a pretty carving, but the craftsmanship was very beautiful. She looked at the box a moment longer, admiring the dove-tail joints, the smoothness of the corners from years of handling. Eventually she put her hand into her pocket and drew out a key on a fine gold chain. Bending down, she unlocked the box and tucked the key away.

As she lifted the lid the scent of stale air caught in her nose, mixed with the smell of dried paper and a faint whiff of lavender. She lifted out some old photos and letters, a dried sprig of flowers, and a few pieces of costume jewelry. These trinkets hardly needed to be kept under lock and key, but somehow they seemed more like a secret treasure when she was the only one to have access.

She looked through the photos, and reread some of the notes. After a while, she carefully replaced the items into the box, and snapped the lid shut.

Navy Beans

She rummaged through the boxes of donations. She knew she was supposed to be grateful - people were giving in kindness (and sometimes guilt) to help those less fortunate than themselves. But she couldn't help wondering why they'd donate some of this stuff rather than tossing it out. The shoes were almost always worn out, no good to anyone. The pants were often full of holes that either needed to be mended or made into rags. And the food - it was either stuff that was on sale at the grocery store, or those odd cans that turn up at the back of the pantry that no one remembers buying; canned pumpkin, water chestnuts, bags of navy beans.

She was just about to give up for the day when she spotted the envelope mixed in with some old t-shirts. Curious, she opened it. Inside was a small bundle of cash, and a note.

"Dear Shelter Worker," it read. "It isn't much but it's all I can spare. Please accept this small donation, along with my son's belongings. He won't need them anymore, but someone else might. Sincerely, Doris Campbell."

She sat back, feeling a little bit ashamed of herself. Women like Doris would worry about others when they were suffering themselves. It was easy to be bitter and to gripe about things, but much harder to put that aside in order to help others. She should know better. She sat still for a while, staring at the boxes of old clothes, trying to decide when she'd lost her optimism, the idealism that had brought her to this work in the first place. Maybe it was time to take a break for a bit and rethink where she was. She knew the burnout rate was high in shelter work, but she hadn't thought it could happen to her.

She stood up slowly, still clutching the note in her hand, and headed back towards her office, unsure of what to do next.

(Non-fiction) Rant from 2000

There's a new phenomenom in our society, one that has been born of education, limitless choices and hippie parents. We call it our quarter-life crisis.

See, it goes like this. When we are younger, we're forced to go to school - get an education. Not necessarily a bad thing, but we can all admit most kids would rather have continual recess. When primary school ends, we all head off to high school. Then we're sorted into groups, not always knowing whats in store for us, or realising this will affect the rest of our lives. The high school only crowd finish grade 12 and go into the workforce, usually having the same, or similar, jobs all their lives. The community college crowd are next, shuttled into job preparation courses and receiving a practical education for a decent career. Finally there's the university bound kids in pursuit of a "higher" education, whatever that means (usually a lot of pot). We got to choose majors like engineering and english, history and philosophy. Well sure, we learned to dream big and think critically and open doors to endless opportunities. So what has that really brought us? A quarter life crisis.

We graduated from university into a world with no jobs, especially for the over educated and under experienced. The baby boomers are still hard at work, and with a crappy economy there are always huge layoffs, not hirings. Add to this the fact that most of us don't know what we want to be when we grow up, since our degrees didn't really prepare us for an actual job, and that we have overwhelming student loan debts. A rather crippling start.

It begins with the realization that we don't know what we want to be when we grow up. But at 25 we are grown up. We have rent and bills to pay. We want to buy big, expensive things like cars and houses. We are trying to find our life partner. We want plenty of free time to see movies, plays and concerts, visit museums and galleries (my, aren't we cultured) and spend our weekends mountain-biking the Bruce Trail or canoeing in Algonquin Park. We want health and dental benefits because most of us had them through school and never used them, but now we want to go to the dentist. We want to buy all the books that are on our reading lists, to create our own library, we want to buy our favourite CD's and DVD's. We want to go grocery shopping and not centre the trip around the Kraft Dinner and Mr. Noodle section of the store, as we realize there is more to food than pasta.

But we can't do this because we don't have jobs, or work at coffee shops making $7 an hour and spare change as tips. That means working over a hundred hours a month to pay for rent alone.

We are not Generation X! We are the generation after X. We are the Muppet Generation. We grew up with Sesame Street and the Muppet Show. Kermit and Fozzie and Grover are our earliest childhood memories. We learned all about co-op-er-a-tion and counting to 12 and we expected thunder and lighting to follow that successful count. We envied John-John and his little chats with Kermie and Grover. We were all a little afraid of Miss Piggy and the guy with the bomerang fish.

We learned that monsters are not always scary, and that size doesn't matter, and that good friends can be black or white or blue or green or purple or have two heads. We grew up more tolerant and more hopeful than most before us. We weren't afraid of "the Bomb", we watched the Iron Curtain fall and the Berlin Wall come crashing down. We watched them Free Nelson Mandela. We grew up without a World War or a Vietnam.

We grew up through the "me" decade, Reganomics and Thatcher telling us "there is no society, only individuals and their families". We grew up with Atari and Colleco-vision; frogger and astroids. We were the beginning of the computer-literate generations that began with Commodore 64, trackerballs and giant floppy disks and tapes. We lived through a recession and the free trade deal that sent our factories south. We saw the end of the fishing industry on both coasts. We saw AIDS go from a "fag" disease to something on everybodies mind.

And now, here we are at the start of the 21st century, struggling to define ourselves, struggling to find politics we can believe in since we've watched every current system fail. Struggling to find a religion - too disallusioned by the current wars and religions fanaticism that fuels them to believe in the current incarnations of any God. We don't fully believe in science, either, since it has failed to stop the AIDS epidemic or cure cancer or mend the holes in the Ozone Layer. We are the first generation to fully realize that we humans have killed our planet and that she is dying much more quickly because of us.

We want it all, as we were taught we deserved it all during the 80's. But we don't know where to start, and no one wants to help us out. Where do we go from here?

Life of the Party

She'd always felt that something was missing - that there was something she just didn't get. It was as if everyone else had been taken off to the side, one at a time, and been told what their role was, what their place was. All around her she saw people living their lives and making choices that seemed to make sense; people pairing up with the right person for them, establishing careers, building their futures. But here she was, making up as she went along, just existing day to day. She barely knew what tomorrow would bring, let alone the next 5 or 10 years. She kept looking around, in case the answer was written clearly somewhere, but if it was, she didn't have the decoder ring.

She didn't even know what her role was supposed to be. Was she a drama queen? A jock? The life of the party? She kept trying on different styles in hopes that she'd find the right one, as though life were the same as buying a pair of jeans. If you try on enough pairs eventually you'll find the ones that make your butt look fabulous. But none of them fit her right. She could only find life's bargain store jeans with the saggy ass and pleated front that made you look fat.

Eggs Sunny Side Up

She could remember that day as though it were yesterday. She had woken up early because she was too excited to sleep. Her brother was already up, watching cartoons in the den. He always got up early on Saturdays to watch PeeWee's Playhouse, and he'd spend the rest of the day screaming if anyone said the secret word.

Her clothes lay on the chest at the end of the bed. She'd laid them out neatly the night before, after going through every possible combination of clothes to find the perfect outfit. Carefully she began to dress, acting as though the clothes might tear if she didn't put them on with the utmost care.

She looked at herself in the mirror. It looked right. She had found the best outfit she had. She brushed her hair, and styled it the way she'd practiced all week, then began putting on some makeup. Every step had been perfected until she could have done it in her sleep.

She picked up the bottle of perfume that her aunt and uncle had given her for Christmas that year. She spritzed one spritz just in front of her and stepped into it, like mom had shown her. Finally, she picked up the necklace and fastened it behind her neck.

She lowered her arms. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

The smell of breakfast wafted up the stairs - coffee and bacon. Sounds of mom rattling aroun din the kitchen made her hurry downstairs. "Just in time!" Mom said cheerfully, as she plopped a plate of eggs and bacon on the table. The egg yolk stared up at her like a weird alien with one quivering, unblinking eye. It unnerved her, so she picked up her fork and jammed it into the yellow centre so it bled all over her toast.

Today was going to be the best day ever.

Case the Joint

She paced nervously back and forth. Soon he would come in and send her into the room alone. She didn't like that thought. She knew she would be too obvious, knew they'd spot her in an instant and escort her off the premisis. She supposed they wouldn't be able to arrest her, though. Well, maybe for loitering.

The doorknob turned and he walked into the room. He was tall and slim and walked with purpose and confidence. No one would ever question why he was in a place - he always looked like he was on important business. Too important to be disturbed with silly questions. Why couldn't she do that? She stopped pacing and began to twiddle her thumbs instead.

"Ready?" he asked.
"Not really," she replied.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't think I can do this. I'm not you."
"Relax. It won't be hard. You walk in with the deposit, and while you're in line you just look around and take note of where the cameras are. And where the guard stands." He put his hands on her shoulders. "You'll do fine."

She took a deep breath. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
"Ok."
"Ok?"
"Yup. I'm ready. Let's go case this joint."
"You've been watching too many cops and robbers movies," he laughed. She felt better. She took the deposit out of his hand and walked towards the door.

The Elephant Man

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. He'd never hit her in the face before, but last night he'd been so worked up. How could one person hold so much rage inside them? He'd been so sweet and sorry this morning. Brought her an icepack and breakfast in bed. He'd even called in to work for her, told them she was puking and couldn't come in.

She knew better, too. Last night he'd been brooding, and instead of staying quiet and out of his way, she'd gone on about the new table she wanted to get from Ikea. How could she be so stupid? She knew he wasn't in the mood. If only she'd kept quiet. Instead, she'd badgered him to look, and he'd hauled off and slammed her into the wall.

It wasn't his fault; she'd pushed him. He'd been having a rough time at work lately. The boss was being an asshole. She felt sorry for him. He worked so hard and never seemed to get ahead. She wished she could help him, help him be less angry. Maybe if she kept the house cleaner, or cooked nicer dinners. Instead she'd pestered him and made him more mad.

She touched the bruise tenderly. It was quite the shiner - he'd smacked her right cheek, and she'd fallen and hit her left eye on the door handle. The eye was almost closed and very purple. She looked deformed, like an elephant man.

She washed her face gently, and straightened her hair, then went downstairs to tidy the house.

Bubblegum

Sitting on the bus, half asleep from a long, boring day at work, she watched the other riders. Old women, unsteady on their feet, bent over from a life of hard work and loaded down with groceries sat near the front. Young mothers carrying little ones, strollers and bags of gear took forever to get on and off the bus. Gaggles of teenagers stood by the rear doors, giggling, flirting, being rowdy. The rest of the passengers were like her - indiscriminate age, working types, many in cheap suits with tired looking faces. When she looked around she saw the same look of bored frustration that stared back at her from the mirror every morning. Where was the excitement? That spark that made it all worth it? What was she missing?

She snapped her bubblegum impatiently. It was almost her stop. She rang the bell and began weaving her way through the teens. The bus lurched into the stop and she fell on a 15 year old boy. They both blushed furiously as the boys friends laughed and teased him. She hurried off the bus mumbling apologies.

The grey sky above looked threatening, and she hoped it wouldn't start raining 'til she was safely home. She'd hardly gone 3 steps before it started spitting down. She stopped at the convenience store to grab some milk and chocolate. She definitely needed chocolate today.

When she left the store the rain stopped spitting and started pouring. Drenched within seconds, she hurried down the street and inside. She stripped down in the hallway, leaving the wet clothes behind for later. She slipped into her jammies and put on the kettle for tea. As she waited for it to boil, she stared out the window at the rain, wondering "where do I go from here?"

English Muffin

She lay in bed, listening to the various street noises outside; a woman shouting after her kid, a car honking at something, an idling truck. The sun was high in the blue sky and she knew she needed to get up - get started. But she stayed in the warm nest, stretching out to touch the cool parts of the bed her body hadn't warmed in the night.

Her brain was starting up now - running over the list of things to be done: Groceries - oh, shit! I'm totally out of milk! Oh, and it's laundry day or I'm working naked this week. Still, she refused to get up. Once she put her feet on the floor, the day would start. There was no going back after that. These moments needed to be treasured, savoured like fine wine. So she sighed a deep sigh, wriggled in her sheets, and tried to think of breakfast.

French toast seemed like too much work, eggs and bacon too cliche for this morning. Cereal might be - ah, crap! - out of milk. Finally her mind settled. The perfect thing would be an English muffin, lightly toasted, with butter and raspberry jam. Mmm, she could taste the melty butter on her tongue.

The only problem lay in the fact that the kitchen was all the way over there, and she was so cozily warm over here.

The time had come. Her tummy rumble could no longer be ignored. She took a deep breath and threw back the covers. Cold air hit her in a rush and she gasped. "Screw it!" she said aloud. She grabbed the covers, rolled over and hid her head under the pillows .

Water

She swung the bow of the canoe around so it pointed towards the middle of the lake, and began paddling. She loved it at this time of night. The air still warm from the sun, the water still as a mirror, the silence of the forest all around her. Tree frogs chirupped in the background, and occasionally she could hear the splash of something entering the water. The sky was that inky blue of dusk, and a few stars were beginning to poke through. Sunset was fading into darkness - the deep reds fading into purple night. The swish of her paddle cutting through the water calmed her, brought peace to her soul. In the distance, she could see the lights coming on in some of the cabins around the lake.

She was near the centre now, so she stopped paddling and sat drifting. A loon called out as it flew over head, it's haunting call echoing in the stillness. A tiny breeze stirred up a few ripples on the surface, and they lapped against the canoe. She slid down until she was sitting on the bottom, and lay back, looking up at the stars, searching for the patterns her father had taught her. Casseopia jumped out at her, and she followed it along to the North Star, then across to the Big Dipper. Then she found the ones she'd made her own names for; the Tent, the Starship and others.

The cold began to creep in, and she shivered as she sat up and began to paddle towards shore. A leaf floated down and landed in front of her. Her stroke sent it swirling off in a tiny whirlpool. She followed the shoreline back to her dock, and hauled the canoe out of the water. A few mosquitoes buzzed around her legs, but she ignored them. She walked up to the shed to store her paddle, stepping lightly on the stone path. Her bare feet left wet footprints behind her. She wasn't really ready to go in - the night was so perfect right now. But she needed a sweater and a cup of tea. She walked up to the house, deciding to drink her tea down on the dock and watch the moon rise over the treetops.