Sunday February 7, 2016
from a thank you card
Kirby started playing basketball in the 6th grade. Mrs. Trenton told her she had something only the greats have and she mentored her all throughout junior high. Kirby won a lot of awards, most sportsmanlike, most valuable. She was a shoe in for her high school team, someone well rounded, talented, driven. When tryouts for the junior team rolled around Kirby felt like she’d have no problem, picturing herself making all kinds of new basketball friends and becoming a part of a real team that grew together on and off the court. She could see herself belonging in a place that held such fear and unpredictability. The night before the tryouts Kirby’s mom told her that Mrs. Trenton was in the hospital and suggested she go see her. Kirby agreed, not knowing what was wrong. She assumed it was something small like a broken ankle or a fractured toe.
Friday, January 29th 2016 at Culprit
From an email
“Write what you know”
Like it’s as easy as peeling a banana
“Carry a notebook”
Like it’s something everyone does
Like it’s vitamins in the morning
“Write down everything you think is funny”
And I wonder about those private jokes that shouldn’t see
the light of the sinking sun
“Write down the things that make you sad”
And I consider the damp pages of my notebook
the smudged ink
Thursday November 19,2015
from the back of a theatre theory book
Belief isn’t strong enough on its own, she tells me, as the crumbs of her double baked almond croissant stick to the corners of her mouth.
You need to put beliefs into practice, Marnie. It’s all about practicality here.
I can’t stop staring at her lips. Encrusted in almond flakes, spewing some wisdom or advice that I can barely pay attention to.
Do you think you put your beliefs into practice, Marnie?
She notices where my eyes land on her face and instantly reaches up to swat the crumbs away. She looks embarrassed now. She keeps her gaze on me.
Have you been listening, Marnie?
Yes, I tell her quickly, before she tries to ask me if I’m sure.
Good. That’s good. Is there anything you’d like to add? I don’t want to be the only one offering ideas here. That’s not why I asked to meet with you, is it?
Tuesday February 10, 2015
“It’s okay,” he says. “You aren’t expected to understand this. It’s very advanced…” In his gentle knowing, it’s as though he hopes we might get there, at least before he leaves. “When do you go to Berlin?” Marta asks. He smiles. “Ten days.” “And we are supposed to learn everything from you before you leave?!” Henry looks emotional. He smiles again. “Of course not… It would be impossible. Relax, all of you, I’m feeling tense and you know what happens when I feel tense…” We wait, breath caught in our throats. “I lose my train of thought more easily! I become highly forgetful!” His accent makes his “f” sounds like waves. He looks at his watch. “We’re already over time, if you have someplace to be, please don’t be late on my account.” None of us move a muscle. “Well, in that case,” he raises an eyebrow, “let’s move on to the concerto…” He raises his violin to his shoulder.
Sunday March 16, 2014
from a status update on Facebook
Said that I would rather write blah blah blah at this very moment in time. Cause Joni’s telling me I have to write down my feelings so I don’t hurt somebody. And I won’t hurt anyone. I know that about me. But Joni thinks that it will help things. I tell her yeah right but she doesn’t let up. She’s tough on me. So I’d rather write nonsense, gibberish you know? Those thoughts don’t want to come out in pretty flowery ways. That’s all I’m saying. That if I had to sit my ass down and pound out a couple sentences about my emotions I might actually hurt someone then. Joni is good to me. She’s patient as shit. She’ll wait all day for me to come out. She wants me to be more free. And I think she thinks I have to let out some aggression or how the world makes me think or whatever. Blah blah blah. It’s more than that. She’ll see through it anyway. She know that Joni. She really knows. If I had to pick one thought it would be..
This pen is a reminder or my strength cause if I wanted to I could use it as a weapon.