SAVING GRACE

 SAVING GRACE

This is a story that is being actively written (new post every day) using a daily VSS (Very Short Story) prompt. I’m hoping to compile it into a short story (or perhaps a fleshed-out novel) when the story tells me it’s time to wrap it up. You may notice some grammatical errors and strange use of words/space, due to the constrictions/rules put on posts. I’ve corrected some I just couldn’t stand, but most of each installment is exactly how it originally appeared. 

Peer

I'm a hight school peer counselor. An oxymoron when you're a nerd & no one speaks to you on a normal basis, let alone in crisis. And yet, here we are. He's got piercings & tattoos & does not look 16.

Accoutered

I don’t know why but I believed him. “What do I do?”

“No one’ll listen to me ‘cause-” He gestured at his torn jeans & unlaced Docs.

He was accoutered like the frontman of a punk band. My straight bangs and big round glasses oozed accountability in comparison.

Greenhorn

“We gotta move,”he said. I’d been ready for this all my life. I might’ve looked a greenhorn, but I’ve read a looot of John le Carré.

Okay, so I was a greenhorn. 

“My vision was the lab room. There’s a class in there now. You distract Mr. Lee & I’ll poke around.” 

Kerf

I burst inside. “Mr. Lee!” 

He & his class paused. 

A hissed called, “Wrong room!” 

I backed out, pulled down the hall. 

I never noticed science & woodshop had the same layout. 

“Just Kerf” was painted on the door. 

“There’s a gas leak & it’s about to get toasty.” 

Rapier

“You distract, I find the leak.”

I nodded, sweeping into the room with a flourish. 

My voice cut through the room like a rapier -- albeit an awkward one. 

“Can I find a screw here?” 

The teacher choked on a sip of coffee, mug shaking with laughter.

 I wanted to die. 

Hawkeye

The class erupted over my accidental joke. Behind them my partner surveyed the room, sliding into a utility closet. Mr. Boyd handed me a handful of screws. 

“Thanks,” I stammered. 

I got a thumbs-up and we met in the hall. 

“Just call me Hawkeye,” he grinned. 

Jazz

“What’s your real name?” 

“Puck.” 

“You know Shakespeare?” 

“You ask adult men for a screw & all that jazz?” 

He was right: I’d judged him right away. 

He cocked an eyebrow, saying, “Ready for another adventure?” 

He should’ve told me his visions included demons. 

 

Quavered

My breath quavered. Straight A’s, perfect attendance & the trust of every teacher on campus. Also, I ditched APUSH to run around with a guy I just met who had tattoos & psychic visions. 

I wondered if this would count as extracurricular on college applications. 

 

Xanthippe

“Where are we going?” I tried to sound like I was disapproving of this adventure. In truth I was loving every minute. If only Key Club could see me now. 

“We are going to find a lady who’ll cause a bunch of sh*t if we don’t.” 

“Who is she?”

 “The xanthippe.”

 

Idyllic

I stood in the middle of a hotel room holding a hunk of hair. A braid,to be exact.I’d grabbed on just as she disappeared. 

“You were born for this!” Puck whistled.

 I was born for Golden Girls reruns & idyllic sunsets, not ripping hair from scalps of witches. 

 

Fog

“What are the visions like?” 

“They’re in a fog, like old movie film that’s been left out too long.” 

He looked so young talking about this.Not at all the intimidating man-boy I’d 1st met. Now I knew he was aptly named Puck: For 1 thing,he was full of mischief. 

 

Fabulist

“Only my uncle knows. He’s untouched, but he says Grandma had it.” 

Puck said his parents died when he was small. 

“I used to try to tell people, but they always thought it was bullsh*t.”

“You do sound like a fabulist.”

“That,” he grinned,” is why I need you.”

 

Porcine

I felt safe with Puck. I didn’t feel like I had to be on guard, like I did with other boys. He was missing that little glimpse of porcine I got from some of them.

“All right then,what’s next?” 

“I’m seeing a church with a purple cross...” 

I knew that church. 

 

Obeisant

Land’s End Church. Did I mention Puck has a motorcycle? Just add riding on the back to my list of recent unlike-me activities. 

“You gotta help find that cross,” he said. 

I wanted to help without seeming obeisant.

“I’ll do anything you want.” came out, instead.

 

Prepared

 “That’s IT?!” I guess the cross seemed bigger in his vision. He looked around the room where I’d gone to Sunday School. “Okay, Puck what am I looking for?” Nothing could have prepared me for seeing Pastor Al floating into the room, evil smile on his face.

 

Paint

“Pastor Al, what happened to you?” 

He turned his head and Puck pushed me away before fire erupted from Al’s mouth, melting the paint on the wall where I’d just been leaning.

“Holy sh*t!” I squealed, clapping a hand over my mouth. 

“That’s not Pastor Al,” said Puck. 

 

 

Hunt

“Who is it then?” “It’s the thing I hunt!” Puck pulled a vial from his pocket & opened it in one motion. Fluid sprinkled Not Al’s face & he shrieked, collapsing to the ground. Purple smoke came from his ears: Puck caught it in the vial before it got away.

 

Egg

The pastor collapsed, eyes closed. “Is he...?” “No. He’ll be OK. We got the demon.” A demon? It smelled like rotten egg. I didn’t want to know what would happen if it escaped. Anyway, I had to get back to school. My mom was going to be there to pick me up. 

 

Basket

Mom thought Harry Potter was satanic so if she learned I’d been fighting real demons I’d be homeschooled fast. “How was your day, sweetie?”

“Peer counseling all day.”

“Don’t let that get in the way of school or your grades will go to hell in a handbasket.” 

 

Whose

It wasn’t till dinner I realized I had 0 contact info for Puck. I was dying to see if the “saving school-witch grabbing-demon hunt” stuff REALLY HAPPENED. “What if he’s absent tomorrow?” I would die. This was 1 girl whose reality had been altered for good.

Picture

We were a picture: Me in my cardigan and loafers, and him... kinda looking like a Sex Pistol. All I knew is that fighting demons with a person makes you close pretty quickly. “We gotta hit the library. There’re two there.” “You know I actually have to go to school, right?”

Hippopotamus

“That’s OK,” said Puck, ”I meant the demons will be in the school library.” “Good grief! Is our school always in trouble?” “You have no idea,” he said. At this point I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear a hippopotamus was going to round the corner at any second.

Exile

Puck put his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s exile these mother-effers and get you to AP Calculus,” he said. Maybe I was cut out for this. “My vision’s of the reference section.” “To the library!” I said, ”Let’s nab some mother-f*cking demons!” Puck’s jaw dropped.

Free

The library was demon-free (2 purple horrors disguised as PTA moms)within minutes, but that egg salad smell was going to take a while to clear. Puck palmed the vials of demon goo, waving at the clueless librarian on the way out. I wasn’t even late to class.

Halo

Everyone saw Puck’s tattoos, piercings, and the holes in his jeans. What they missed was his halo. His grades might be limping along, but lots of people around him were thriving because of his visions and serious skills when it came to hunting demons.

Bungalow

It was difficult to concentrate in class, but I managed. The world just felt different now. I used to picture myself growing old in a bungalow full of cats, but lately my future was hazy. I was sort of hoping it included demon hunting and a couple tattoos

Feel

I began to feel restless by lunch break. Now that I knew demons were hiding among us & I had a knack for hunting them being first in line for hot lunch pizza just didn’t feel so important. I needed to find Puck. I needed to know if he’d had another vision.

Language

I almost gave up when an arm pulled me into the hallway. 

“Gotta step off campus.” 

I grimaced. 

“Just for a minute,I swear!” he said. 

“What did you see?” 

“Little granny on Hope St.” 

“Not really a granny?” 

He shook his head. 

“Sh*t!” “Language,girl!” He grinned.

Watch

"I keep forgetting to watch my mouth these days.

"Huh," he said, "I guess I'm a bad influence."

He was so wrong. He was a better person than anyone I’d ever met. Also, he was a kick-a$$ demon hunter.

“Let’s go find us a demon granny!”

I was ready.

Edelweiss

      

    My grandfather served in World War Two. He received a Purple Heart, and numerous additional commendations, for his service. By the time he retired he was a major in the US Army, and the father of my mother and uncle. 

     Grampy sang. A lot. One of his favorite pieces was “Master of the House” and another was “Edelweiss.” He was the jolliest, most generous human being I’ve ever met. He called himself “The Last of the Big Spenders.” He wasn’t wealthy, or anything, but he liked to dine out and go to the movies. Usually it was Carl’s Jr., and I mean probably five days a week it was Carl’s Jr. He approved of the salad bar.

     One day, while Grampy ate his salad, a mentally challenged employee was in tears because he lost his wallet. Grampy returned after his shift to drive him to his stops at the light rail to see if they could find it. They didn’t so Grampy gave him some money to replace what was lost and took him home.

     We changed it up on our way to see “Schindler’s List,” opting for McDonald’s. That’s where he told the story.

     September 2, 1945. He and another serviceman took a Jeep to let people know the war was over. They found a small village, where an ancient man was posted with a rifle. Grampy (Captain Paul A. Weakland) approached the man to tell him the news.

     “Großvater der Krieg ist vorbei!” Grandfather the war is over!

     The old man wept. Through his tears he saw a white flower growing through the cracks of the rock, on which he was sitting. “Edelweiss,” he whispered, reaching for the flower.

     Gunfire rang out, and the man fell, dead. The captain’s companion believed the man was reaching for his rifle.

     Grampy’s eyes were so far away. I ate french fries like a machine, daring not to interrupt. He spoke of later liberating Jewish victims from the camps. They barely looked human, he said. Pitiful. Hardly alive. 

     He was a different man as he spoke. I saw the man who’d suffered severe alcoholism for most of my childhood, and I now understood how the disease had so easily tempted him.

     We sat through “Schindler’s List” and I sneaked looks at his dear face, which remained as stone, throughout the film.

     He drove me home after, without a word. However, he sang:

Edelweiss, Edelweiss

Every morning you greet me

Small and white, clean and bright

You look happy to meet me

Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow

Bloom and grow forever

Edelweiss, Edelweiss

Bless my homeland forever

Edelweiss, Edelweiss

Every morning you greet me

Small and white, clean and bright

You look happy to meet...Me...

Happy Shaunakah

My family had a big celebration last night. We ordered a lavish dinner (Italian food — Original Joe’s), the kids opened gifts, and we enjoyed a double chocolate cake for dessert, dropped off by my mother, in honor of this special occasion.

You might call it Christmas Eve Eve, but we call it Shaunakah. Or Shaunikah, or Shanica, or Shaunakkah, or... much like completely unrelated Hanukkah, there are various creative attempts of the spelling. I cannot tell you which is correct for our holiday because I don’t actually know.

Twenty-eight years ago, when yours truly and my sweetheart were high school seniors we wanted to celebrate Christmas together. As teenagers we were obligated to attend several family functions. We chose the 23rd to exchange our gifts to one another

Nearly three decades later the tradition has morphed into a grand holiday, acknowledged by people who know us — and it warms my stressed-out Christmas-preparing heart. I even received texts and from friends and family wising us a “Happy [no-duplicate-of-spelling]” day. 

My mom delivered a gift basket of food (a beautiful collection of all the makings of a pasta dinner) and the cake.  My husband selected a gift for the kids, and I worked for weeks to create a gift for each of them (a Shaunakah tradition). Even though one’s an adult and one is nearly so this will always be a part of Shaunakah, I hope.

So Happy Shaunakah-er-Shaunika-er-Shanakkah-er-JUST PICK ONE AND WE’ll GO WITH IT to you and yours!

Packing Up

I’m realizing how I pack up holiday decorations is directly related to where I am mentally at that time. Today I carefully wrapped my Thanksgiving pieces in tissue, separated small things into baggies, and made sure it’s all been cleaned. I know Covid has sucked in many ways, but being home has been good for this secret introvert.

I’m worried about what I might find as I unbox the Christmas stuff. I can’t remember what was going on last December 😬

Also, does anyone else find weird sh*t hidden behind other sh*t, like this beautiful dragonfly (not visible in the photo) La Rochere carafe stuffed with raffia for who knows what reason that was stashed behind a stack of dvds in the corner of my mantle? I was looking for it recently, but didn’t think to check there. I looked in the cupboard where the other carafes are stored. Silly me.

Kids Say the Deadest Things

When I arrived for my substitute teaching gig at an elementary school health class a while back, I learned that my assignment for the day was to explain Death to the entire first grade population. The first thing on the list was to read two books to them (a little "Goodbye Grandma", anyone?). A discussion was to follow, then I was to allow them a few minutes to draw a picture of what they "think someone feels like, when someone that they care about has died."

*Many times, I had to explain that "Death" does not mean that you are hearing impaired. There is actually quite a bit of difference, I told them, between being "Deaf" and being "Dead". Ultimately, they agreed.

*Two of the classes (without any prompting from me) recommended that a good way to cope with the loss of a loved one would be to eat. I know more than a few adults who agree with this.

*Four out of the five classes included students who had very real fears about coming back as a Zombie. I assured them that it would be impossible. I realize that there have been a disturbing number of recent cannibalism reports in the media, pointing towards an impending Zombie Apocalypse. However, I decided it was probably unwise to share this information with my six-year-olds.

*One mature, albeit cynical, little girl earnestly proclaimed, "I think they are all crazy:  When you're dead, you're just dead."

The moment I read my instructional plan, I dreaded the hours to come. How could I allay their fears? How could I tell them (as the teaching guide suggested) that "being dead is like being a broken toy or a television that no longer works" and that when Grandpa Abe dies, he'll be gone forever? I was to teach them that people die when the are "very, very old or very, very sick", but what about all the questions about cancer or the little girl whose dad passed away just after she was born? What about that one boy in 7th period who saw a "burglar" get attacked by a Horned Owl, and in his haste to get away, got hit by a car and died in the street (according to him, it happened in Japan and for some reason I absolutely believed him).  

I wont even mention my difficult time directing conversation away from religion:  Heaven and Hell, and the idea of reincarnation were a little difficult for some to understand -- and I panicked when one child began to explain how God died on two sticks that were nailed together and then came back as Frankenstein (I wonder which church he attends?!).  He drew a picture to demonstrate, which I am sure  resulted in a phone call from his parents.

I heard about countless pets, grandparents, and neighbors who were loved and were now missed by my young students.  By the end of the day, I was reminded of the incredible curiosity, resilience, and lovely, sweet innocence that defines first graders. I was surprised to feel that I would willingly accept this assignment in the future,  and I was grateful for the time that I shared with these children -- teaching about an extremely difficult topic:  Spending my warm October Friday talking about death made me feel incredibly and completely alive.

Good Old Days

Nearly six months into the country being more or less closed for business, and I thought I was doing pretty all right — until I opened Facebook this morning.

Most of the time I’m good with the flashback-reminder thingies Facebook gives. When it brings back a person who’s passed away, or a person who’s passed on your friendship it brings mixed feelings, and old first day of school photos are weird sometimes if your kid is now living as a different gender, but overall memories are cool.

This morning I felt a bit gut-pinched, when reminded that I used to leave my city, stay in hotels, and willingly hang out for hours in a smoosh of stinky humans. 

Not gonna lie:  I miss the heck out of it.

SEPTEMBER 2, 2018

I just spent three days as a spectator at SacAnime. It was enormously entertaining, as expected, but I have observations:

*Apparently, if you’re a guy who thinks you're in good physical shape you can walk around shirtless, and call that your cosplay...

*You know that weird mesh patch in the crotch of pantyhose? SO MANY adorable young ladies were in cosplays requiring a leotard and tights — but instead of finding dance or cosplay tights they went with hose, and had the patch hanging out of their leotards. Sometimes it stretched almost to their knees.

It’s okay, though, because I might be the only one who noticed.

*Sometimes awkwardness occurs because you’re not sure if a person is cosplaying or just existing. I saw a possible Heisenberg, a couple of maybe Wolverines, and several people in wild Hawaiian shirts who were most likely just parents.

*I can’t understand how people can spend exorbitant amounts of money on costumes and choose to not wear deodorant. Seriously. The Sacramento convention center must have B.O. permanently seeped into the walls. Gawd help me, I’m still here, and some of these people haven’t showered — and it’s day 3 of the convention.

*a bottle of water costs $4.50. 

*The thing I was most aware of was the acceptance level. Cosplay(the costumes, makeup, wigs) provide a sort of a protective shield of marvelous confidence to people who might not ordinarily shine. Piles of teens (some longtime friends, some new connections) playing D&D, and other role play games, laughing, encouraging each other. Kids in costumes posing for photos and admiring the efforts of their peers. Overall there is an overwhelming sense of positivity and friendliness. It’s a joy to witness.