Une Petite Histoire

         I'd like to tell you a story, with lack of words and perhaps a lack of story. I want you to interpret this as you will.

Love Letter From Paris

oh how to start such a journey. how to begin the road into great detail, the feelings, the sights, the tastes, the smell. the beautiful thing is that there is no beginning, just for myself. this world, let alone this city has been transforming for years without me, and now here I am expecting it to help me do the same. 

as i sit here in this modernized 17 or 18th century apartment with my perfectly baked baguette, still ripe from this morning, and my brie in which in the states I would pay more than 6 dollars for was only 1.50 euro. And with my mini sauccisson, and my trente paquette de cigarettes avec une petite verre de rose vin, I will try to describe to you what it really has been like to be in Paris for the last two days. 

My first day that I have arrived, i think i might have told you but I was in tears. 

Here I am after two days in New York galavanting the streets, wandering into random bars and chatting up locals between 20 degree weather and heavy rain, I slept only a tiny bit before my plane to Madrid out of pure excitement. The plane left 7 pm New York time and landed 8 am Madrid time. I had, again, no sleep in my isle seat, american teenagers bursting with the joy of drinking overseas, a spanish couple in front of me that couldn't keep their hands off of each other, and two women beside me speaking spanish until their little heads fell asleep on one anothers shoulders. I watched 3 movies until the sun had risen and we had reached madrid. I accidentally left a few things behind, I couldn't wait to get off of the plane. 

When we all were finally let out of the cage I had to run to find Air France to make sure that my baggage will make it to Paris. No one spoke english and if they did they refused to use it.

"excuse me, do you know where Air France is?"

"salga le scale, prenda una destra, scenda il corridoio e lo vederete sulla vostra sinistra"

Depending on where they pointed I went into the direction and asked upon another person for help. I kept doing this until I found Air France about 30 minutes later. Of course with my luck, after running around and standing in line, my baggage had made it safely on the plane to france with out my having to make sure. 

I ran through security and to my gate, heavy luggage by this time had weighed me down, made me slower, more tired (especially with no sleep) and gave me blisters on each hand from trying out a new hand every two minutes. When I had boarded the plane to France the stewardess that greets you as you enter the plane gave her good wishes "bonjour, bonjournee, bonjour, ello, bonjour" I came on with my 1960's light blue suitcase "bonjour- ah! tres jolie luggage mademoiselle" 

I smiled, gratified, i could no longer feel the blisters, I had literally been dressing the part for france since before I had left San Francisco. "merci beaucoup"  

The fight was short, everyone on the plane had slept but me. I was finally in a window seat watching the salt fields and plains whizz by. We passed the French Apls, the rising sun and the snow combined made my eyes tear up and I tried to rest. All of a sudden we were landing. 

Vivi couldn't meet me this day, since my plane was delayed so Myrium was to pick me up. Although I couldn't find her anywhere. I called her and she didn't pick up, i called Vivi and before i could tell her all of the information of where I was the call had been dropped because 2 euros doesn't buy you more than a minute on the telephone at the airport. 

I exchanged the bit of american money I had left. 17 dollars- they were going to give me 8 euro. I explained that I needed at least 10 for a phone card and the man somehow felt my pain and silently gave me the ten euro. Again, with my luck the phone card machine was out of order. I exchanged my bills for coins to use the pay phone again. I trid myrium two more times and lost 4 euro without any outcome. I walked around gate 2F where I was to meet her for about an hour and a half. 

I sat in the waiting area. the whole plane ride I had been practicing my french for after i get off the plane "je besoin une douche et dormir" I forgot exactly how to say it, or that I was going to say it at all as Myrium came hustling to my side "i'm so sorry! We could not find where to go and went in-to circles" I could never get angry at someone, no matter what ,when they speak to me so grammatically correct in english with that thick french accent. I whiped away my tears and gave her a hug as if I had been trapped in solitude for many years. 

We got my heavy luggage loaded into the car, she asked me what I wanted to do and in english I told her I would like to take a shower. we went to her house in Villiers. We had to climb the ton of bricks I had brought up the stairs 5 flights to her apartment. Inside it was nice, small, slanted ceilings, the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, the bath were all practically one room, the toilet being in the other. 

She gave me a towel and told me that she and her friend ,who had helped with my luggage from the airport, would no look. They began to talk amongst themselves in French that I could not yet understand. Since my sweater was so big and bulky I took my pants off first, then climbed into the bath tub to take off my shirt and sweater. There was no way I could figure out the bath to shower situation without help, and now naked in the bath I decided to go with it. 

Myrium played the piano and sang as I soaped my limp body and threw handfuls of water over my shoulder none of which could reach the middle of my back. I felt like I was in an impressionist painting sitting in the corner of the louvre, piano in the background, little bits of mumbling and chucking. I was finally in France. The France I had imagined. 

Apres cette, I fell asleep in Myriums bed under a sunroof just as the sun was setting, it was silent expect for the birds who sang me to sleep. 

I woke up a few hours later to Vivi's voice and brought myself back to life. It was so good to see her again but both of us were tired and ready to climb into bed, another bed for myself. We came back to her place just outside of Paris in Issy les Moulineaux. 

There are many pizza places in the area. I dunno, I was surprised by that. Her apartment is just next to one. I saw her raise her finger towards the street and before she could say anything I had told her that that is where she lived. Of course she knew, but I had to admit that I had looked at her place on google maps more than one time.  

The door to the apartment building is one of my favorite French little technologies, with the handle in the middle, a lock that from the inside you pull to your left to unhinge rather than turning a knob. Inside the doors, the entry way and the walls are red, bright red. The smell, another french delicacy. Ancient smelling,damp, cold, lives lived in this building. The steps, yet another thing I love about Europe in general, the edges of each step worn down from the years of walking up and down them. The same thing at Myriums 5 story winding staircase. 

I love memories, I love history, I love souvenirs especially the kind that have dissipated, the ones that you replace with your imagination. I pictured children running up and down the steps, winter time yelling "maman, maman, regard! Le neige!"  or a love for lust couple in the 1920's drunk from pernod and sexual wispers in each other's ears stumbling up the stairs to play them out. I think of a woman, lives alone with a small dog that could hardly make it up each stair by himself, but with all of the time in the world the woman waits for him to scurry up each step after their daily walk through Port de Versailles. I can see an old man, one who hates everyone in the building, he lives at the top and only leaves the house to pick up a baguette in exchange for his poor judgement of the world. 

Vivi opens the door to the apartment and it is a bit larger than Myrium's. There are doors and rooms, a kitchen of it's own, a living room of it's own, another door, and two whole more rooms of it's own, and to my romantic impressionists surprise a bathtub with  room to share with the toilet…all of it's own. For some reason I had expected every young person's apartment to be smaller than a New York studio. 

We didn't talk for very long, but we did over tea and I had a beer to help fall back asleep. The next morning I woke up at 10, talked to you and then had coffee with Vivi in the kitchen. She sat perched on a step stool reading, getting ready for her exams in 2 hours. We talked about our plans for the day and the night and when we would meet again. When she left I again tried to take a shower but couldn't figure it out for the life of me, I knew when Vivi would show me it would be the most obvious thing in the world but I just couldn't get there. 

So, I took a bath. Something I also love about these old apartments are the sounds they make. Every time you turn on the hot water, the heater boils on. The same happened during my bath, and maybe for some it would be annoying but it was soothing for me to listen to, like mozart or bach in a sunny afternoon park. 

After I wrote you. And then left the apartment to meet with Myrium at her house. I felt very parisian knowing exactly which metro to take, what sortie meant, and just where to go after leaving the metro to go to her house. Myrium was still getting ready even at 3 almost 4 in the afternoon. I watched her straighten her hair as I smoked american fortunas on her bed. 

She likes to talk about California, the people I lived with, the people I used to live with and the people who are now living with the people i used to live with. All of the conversation I had hoped to leave behind in California. She couldn't stop telling me things I didn't want to hear about and showing me things I didn't want to see. But I wasn't going to tell her. How horrible it would be if I was so excited to tell someone about my adventures in France and all they had to say was they didn't want to hear it. So I listened and tried to sound enthusiastic when I gave a faux wow-that's-awesome or nice! 

At last she had been distracted with phone calls, who would meet us where and what time. Myrium is usually, if you couldn't tell, on the late side so we left a bit later than we should have. Parisians I find are a bit lazy when it comes to transportation. They don't realize how easy they really have it. A metro system that has a train coming every 2 minutes at every station and goes at the speed of light to the next. She complained about the amount of time it was taking even though it had only been 4 minutes that we were on the first train and only waiting about 30 seconds for it in the first place. Back home I remember getting excited when a bart train was coming in under ten minutes and pretty excited when it was coming under 15, and after that stoked that it only took half an hour to get to the other side of the bridge. These Parisians have no idea!

We made it to our station before that last paragraph was over. Myrium lead me up the hill to god knows where, only her phone was telling her, even though she had been before. On our way, again we had an opportunity to talk about California only except this time I didn't mind. It was only about Danny and ricchelle and I could care less about their relationship since it doesn't effect me in the least bit, besides the fact that I am now staying with Vivi. 

Myrium was pushing information out of me, seeing if Danny had told Vivi about Ricchelle yet. I told her what I knew and started to worry about Vivi mostly because Myrium had made it seem like she could be bottling something up. But I didn't want to open up a can of worms that I didn't quite yet know how to contain. She told me that she would talk to Vivi herself this night. Myrium also loves drama. 

The streets that we were climbing began to get curdled with graffiti and random trash, glass and people with places to go. I was thinking about how many people before I left thought of France and Paris as this pristine place, clean, undisturbed, perfect, magnifique! And how many times I tried to tell them that it is a place just like any other. 

Almost every person I look at, tall, short, fat, skinny, old, young, black, white, asian, or undeterminable to my knowledge, I expected them to start speaking english. I guess because they just looked like people that I knew from home, wearing the same kinds of clothes, playing the same kind of roles and exemplifying the type of person that they are or would like to be. I couldn't stop thinking about how similar everyone in the world really is. how, yes as individuals we are all different, but as groups, we are all the same. 

We made it to the cafe where Myrium and Seb would be playing. It was tiny. Myrium said it was small but I should have known her english was limited because it was tiny! About the size of our last room together with a bar and a four tables inside. They pushed a table to the side to make way for what they could clear as a stage. 

Myrium bought us a couple of beers and sat us at a table outside to wait for the others to arrive. I saw a man, a boy, I dunno and in-between a man and a boy, walk down towards us with a mild and thinning mohawk. I made fun of him to Myrium until she smiled, stood up and kissed his cheeks. I was praying that he hadn't heard me as I stood up to do the same "enchante, je suis Elektra" 

"bonjour"

He and Myrium talked until a couple had arrived. They had just been talking about how much they hate the girl of this couple and I felt bad for her when she sat at the same table, welcomed, yet unbeknownst of what had just been said about her. I kissed the couple on each cheek, as tradition had told me to after introduced again as the American. They tried to speak in english but I would tell them that it was okay, I had to learn French. The man asked me what I was doing here. I thought it to be a funny question. What am i doing here? Well, I am seeing if I would like to live here. I don't think that was enough information for them. The french I think need some sort of linear plan. 

Another friend arrived, another set of kisses another introduction as the american, another attempt at english and another question of what i was doing here. This happened many more times until it got to the point where the group was so large that I got lost in it. No more kisses, no more being the american, no more english, no more questions. 

I hadn't seen Vivi in a while, she was to show up right at 8 but it was now 8 and a half. People asked me where she was in French luckily I know how to say 'je ne sais pas' quite well and eloquent in french. 

With one or two more drinks in me I was opening up the vocabulary book i had stashed away and dusty in the back on my head. I started to remember things I didn't think I knew in the first place, and then thankfully Vivi showed up. 

I was introduced some more to friends of hers, kisses, american, english, what am i doing here? this time Vivi laughed with me at this question since I think she knew the difference. She explained to her friend that in America it is more courtousy and welcoming to ask "how is your trip so far?" or "how long are you here?" and not so much like a customs officer- what are you doing here?

The night went on, myrium, seb and another friend of theirs played covers of french songs. The other friend of theirs was the only one when introduced that had said "ah- I've heard a lot about you from Marius!" There were kisses, but at least I got to skip the other shit. 

After many joints we left to go back to the apartment. I was tired and happy to go home. I couldn't help it but i was exhausted from trying to remember French and thinking vividly about you. I couldn't wait to get back to talk to you. I had been seeing couples every where I had went, holding each other, making out, holding hands, groping, laying on each other's shoulders, turning one back around with a whip of the hand to their arm to grab a kiss. I had realized all day that I was in the most romantic city in the world without you. 

When we had made it home I wasn't tired anymore from the brisk walk we had taken back to the apartment. We were back to the ancient smell, the middle knobs, the bursting sounds of flame whenever a sink was turned on. I wanted to show this all to you immediately. I didn't want to wait 4 months at all. Vivi went right to bed after a cigarette and I tried to drink a beer, watch tv and fall asleep but all I could do was watch the clock and wait for 6-6:30 your time for whenever you would be getting out of work. I called, e-mailed, facetimed twice. I just felt so alone in this moment. 

What was I doing here?

I thought of all the things I wanted to tell you but they all evaporated the moment I heard your voice. All I wanted was your words to sliver through the telephone and turn into arms spooning me to sleep. But as you know, the conversation somehow turned into an ice box that I had to find some way to keep warm in to fall asleep. You ended it abruptly just as abrupt as every other conversation in the evening had ended when my knowledge of French had come to a halt. 

You left and I stayed. I cried some more and watched forensic files in french. Normally it would freak me out before bed but it was comforting to hear a american southern woman's voice over dubbed by a chic french woman's voice. I knew it was no where close to me that any of this had taken place. I turned the tv off, turned one of the lights off and tossed and turned myself to sleep. 

This morning I woke up at 1, so i guess that really isn't morning. Vivi woke up at the same time. We took showers, got ready for a pique-nique in the park by cite universite. 

On the tramway an old man had commented on my budweiser shirt, he said they used to be a czech company and then went on to tell us about how he had been born in austria and moved to france in 1938 and how he and his family had suffered interment camp during the second world war. I had tried telling people back home the horrifying features of France, and now it was here telling me. I hand't even thought about this. 

All of these old people Myrium had been making fun of in her quarter could very well have been in the same place, in the same situation. I had immediately viewed France in a completely new light. We got off the tram after this story and were silent for a moment until we reached the park. It was as full as dolores park on a sunny saturday afternoon. We had found a place to sit, and just as you told me to do I opened up to Vivi about my troubles with opening up to you. 

The same expression came out, just as it does from an american girl or probably any other girl in the world- " men just don't understand the heartaches a woman goes through" 

So simple. But it felt good to know that even though I am here in france and i'm supposed to feel elated, on top of the world that inside of me something is curling up into a ball and crying for help. And that it's normal due to the fact that I am just a mere human. 

The conversation left our brains as we went on to talk about the projects we would like to work on and what we plan to do with 'whatever, dude'. We talked about the couple behind Vivi who looked like they were ready to rip each others clothes off, the man behind me who was creepily staring at us and how beautiful the day was until the sun started to set and we left to grab the tram back home. 

Due to 'the pollution of paris' the metro had been free the last few days so they have been packed. Vivi said "no, we are getting on this train" and we pushed our way on as if we were old asian women on the 28 with bags of fish. I had never been so close to strangers before. A man and a woman were so close you would think they were in love, yet they had no idea who the other one was. 

I started to think about the man, the old man that had talked to us about his family's capture during the 1940's. Here I am in a perfect scenario with just one obstacle and it already felt horrible. I tried to stay away from the imagery that might have been haunting his mind. Suddenly we made it to our station, breathed in the fresh air and lit a cigarette. 

Vivi had to go meet with her aunt so for the last 2 hours I have been writing this letter. And that's where I am now. This is what I am doing in Paris. 

I love you, and I miss you terribly. I hope you're having a good day and perhaps we can talk later, but I don't think I will call until you do (you can facetime me when i have wifi too). Until you want to talk to me. I don't want to bother you with my nonsense of how much I miss you, so I guess I will continue to keep writing these letters. Hopefully you find them entertaining enough. 

With all of my love,

Elektra Johnson

Production Crazy

Hey guys,
So I've been working on a lot of movies and also not working on movies. Today I am working on the set of a short film called 'Cupid' as a make up artist so my job ended a while ago. I dab the actress every now and then with a tissue and the set continues.
I like working on different sets as various positions because I learn so much a out what it's like to be treated as each role by the director and crew. Of course it's also nice to lay back and watch how everyone else treats each other.
I'm a director so treatment amongst the cast and crew is essential for me. If someone (especially the talent) is t happy, then neither am I. Not always a good tactic but, hey, I'm learning.
I don't have very many pictures from the production today but I have some from the feature film I am working on in Petaluma. It is a horror film about a teenage who is bullied all of the time and after a prank goes too far she gets revenge on the girls who played the prank. The movie is called 'Miserable Marnie and the Shut In'. The cast and crew are great and I have a lot of fun on the set, there's always something to do. And I also met a new friend who has a very similar vision as I do for a script that I wrote at the beginning of this year. It's in a working title mode but it is called 'April and Junip' for now.
It's about teenage girls who are BFF in a small town and visit the local dump everyday. One of these days they find a trunk full of journals written by a girl in the 1980s. They start to realize that their lives aren't as monotonous as they thought, and actually pretty cool.
We're in pre production right now and will be shooting in early July, so keep your eyes peeled for more!!! I will report on more productions as time goes on. I feel like its a really great way to learn film making online since working with people is not something you learn very easily. God, I'm such a manners bitch haha
Welcome!!!

Momma - A Short Fictional Story

My momma was one of them southern ladies you'd get introduced to first thing at the salon while blue haired elderly women and married christian ladies sat in a blow dryer chair, flipping through magazines  and talkin' on about this weeks gossip in town. 

"Did you hear the latest on Mrs. Rose Sinclair? Or should I say Ms. Rose Sinclair?" The christian women raise an eyebrow.

"I heard her husband took five minutes to pack up one bag. He threw it over his shoulder in the middle of the night, and just left," The elderly woman snaps her fingers, " like that. Didn't say nothing'. An' on top of that, he left the kids sleeping. Didn't kiss em' or nothin"

The hair dresser smacks his lips as he's teasing her hair. "Now, you don't know nothing like that." 

"I do"

One of the christian women would lean in "Where you hear that from Sue?"

"Why, the whole town's talkin' bout it" Sue goes back to her magazine. "Shoot, I thought ya'll would have heard it too"

The whole town was always talkin bout my momma. My momma, my grandmomma, me, my brother Buddy and my lil sister Tootie. We was like radio celebrities, everyone knew who we were, what we been doin' , where we'd been, and all the little details my momma tried so hard to hide. 

I was 15 when we lived in Fayetteville, it was the day before my birthday when we left Hank in Little Rock. Sure, I missed my friends but I hated Hank more. I was glad to leave. My brother Buddy screamed the whole way over. Sittin in the backseat of our volkswagon, smushed between a stack of boxes and Tootie yelling cause she needs to go to the bathroom. 

The July heat in the afternoon would cook you like a bug under a magnifine glass. The windows rolled down, we didn't have any air conditioning only some torn up paper fans we took from church. Within 20 minutes of the drive the kids were asleep and then momma would start.

"Now look, I know you wanna scream in my face 'I told you so'. But instead of doin' that, why don't you just be an adult about it and we can just move on?" If she only knew how happy I was to be gone, she wouldn't need to say nothing. " For the first week or so I'm gonna have to keep you home before putting you school. Grandmomma needs some help getting back on her feet and so do we." Momma used to smack her gum, and when she felt guilty or didn't wanna tell you something she'd suck on it, like she was enjoying the flavor before it's gone. She'd take it out of her mouth and stick it to one of the empty soda pop cans in the drink holder. "We scratch her back, she scratches ours. You scratch mine, I'll scratch yours. It's the way the world works, sweet pea."

The kids were still asleep when we pulled up to grandmomma's trailer. I woke Buddy up and he went whining to the front door after momma. I went to the other side, unbuckled Tootie and picked her up into my arms. When I turned around momma, grandmomma and Buddy were already inside. Momma always knew how to make me feel welcome. 

The three of us children stayed in a room together. The first night Buddy slept on the floor while Tootie and I stayed in the cot grandmomma made for us in the corner next to the window. Everyone was asleep, but it felt like christmas eve to me. I couldn't wait to wake up the next day to live my new life in Fayetteville. I pulled back the curtain as little dust bunnies started to snow above my head and i got an idea of what kind of back scratching' I'll be doing.

Over the next few weeks I still didn't go to school. Instead I fixed the house up, took the kids to school, made breakfast lunch and dinner, and took care of grandmomma while she chain-smoked and watched soap operas in between tanning appointments and trips to the salon to see her gals. Momma started working at the diner in town 5 nights a week. She was doin so good over there she said I might be able to get back to school soon. 

One night I was heating up some chicken fingers and french fries when momma snuck in through the front door and into her room. I think she was trying to get past me without me noticing, but I did.

"Momma, I'm makin chicken! You want some?"

She didn't bother comin in, she just hollered from her room "Nah, that's alright sweet pea. I'm not hungry right now. I ate a bit at the diner"

"Alright well, I'm not cookin anymore tonight. You want me to save you some?"

"I'm okay, hun!"

I put a few extra fries in the microwave and a handful of nuggets in the oven. 

I struggled to get Buddy to leave his sister alone and let Tootie eat her own food while grandmomma smacked his hand every time her pot would boil.

"Leave your sister alone and for god's sake, chew with your mouth closed!"

 It was a normal dinner without momma. When every one was done granmomma left to go to Ernie's and the kids watched cartoons while I cleared the table. I could smell my momma's sunflower perfume before she walked into the room. 

"What do you think? Mommas still got it?"

I turned around to my mother draped in clinging chiffon fabric hugging at her thighs and a low neck line exposing her top parts. Her hair was done up to the sky with little rhinestone earrings decorating her face. And boy, she had on eyeshadow and she done rouge up her cheeks. 

"You look beautiful Momma!" Tootie comes running into the kitchen.

"Go sit back down and watch TV." I couldn't help but get a little frustrated at Tootie, but I find a way to win her back "If you do, I got some ice cream for you."

She squealed back to the couch just to sit through a commercial while I had it out with momma. 

"We are not gone for one month and you are already going on a date? What are you thinking?"

Momma stood calmly in front of me and hooked her eye in such a way that would make my heart curl with anticipation. She never seemed so evil to me as when she looked at me with the power of her title, 'Momma'.

"Miss. Cheyenne. Now, who do you think you are?" Her breath smelled like cigarettes and mint as she chewed her words in my face. There wasn't nothing I could do with her. She wouldn't listen to a god damn thing I would say. 

"Get out of my way, before I slap you so hard you don't recognize yourself" I fought back a waterfall of tears and unclenched my fist to wipe the sweat off on my jeans. There wasn't nothing I could do with her. I just got out of her way. And she done pushed me even more just 'cause. 

I stayed awake all night till momma got back home and couldn't go back to sleep cause she and her date were still having a good time in her room. I met him the next morning when he came into the kitchen while momma was still asleep. The kids were watching saturday morning tv and eating pancakes like zombies nibbling at flesh, pieces just sliding from their mouths and on to their laps. 

"Can I get one of those there, darlin'?" He pointed at the flapjacks behind me.

"Sure" I nudged my head towards the plate, "get it yourself"

He chuckled and slivered to get himself one, two, three. "You got any maple?"

I did, but it was in the fridge and I ain't doing no favors for him "No"

"You must be Cheyenne. Your momma says you got a bit of an attitude." He sat down, folded up his pancakes into rolls and shoved them into his gaping hole of a mouth. I cringed my lips and wrinkled my nose. Got another child with no manners. 

"Well that's nice, I didn't hear nothing 'bout you." I threw a fork on the table for him.

"My name's Tom. I'm a friend of your momma's." He had the nerve to ignore my gesture of giving him a fork and just continues to cram the food down his throat. "We been seeing each other a while now. She thinks I could be good enough to be your daddy" 

I thought about him being there for every meal, chewing with his mouth wide open. I thought about the extra load of laundry and my having to fold his under roos. I thought about his being there all the time to keep momma in a happily distracted state of mind. 

I sauntered over to him, gently picked up his plate, wound up and threw it against the wall. Tootie starts screaming like her little 4 year old self and Buddy shouts newly learned profanity. 

"What the hell? Are you crazy, bitch?" My 'new daddy' yells. His voice strangling my hearing. Momma runs in with nothing on but a pink silk robe that she's tying up. 

"What is going on out here? Cheyenne Lindsay Leigh Sinclair, what in God's name are you thinking?"

I ran away. I ran right out the door, ran down the street, ran all across town. Barefoot, I didn't care. I made it to the salon where my grandmomma was at. I sat with her while she got her nails done and talked about Trudy Evelgate's new affair with her mailman. I didn't say nothin', it was nice hearing about someone who wasn't momma.

When we got back Tom was still there, and he didn't leave for 2 more years. Not until he figured out that my momma was crazy. The kind of crazy you'd only find figure out if you lived with them. 

Sure enough in two weeks time we were off again. Momma couldn't handle being in the same place as Tom with the same memories of him, left to only think of him everywhere she turns, blah blah blah. 

I sat in the front of the car with the windows rolled down. Buddy screaming in the back, Tootie and her now controllable blatter, yet uncontrollable hunger. No air conditioner only torn up fans from the church. Within 20 minutes time, the kids fall asleep and momma starts.

Santa Cruz Trip

Brian and I took a random trip to Santa Cruz on a random sunny day that lasted till about 3 pm hence why we escaped foggy San Francisco to cruise the Santa Cruz boardwalk.
Enjoy :)
Elektra

Sewing Again!

I've been super inspired lately to make clothes. Maybe it's that thing in me that needs to move on to something new every two seconds but it could also be because I haven't been sewing in about six months.
Today I buckled down and came up with a new simple sixties inspired design. I used the galaxy fabric that I love so much. This is just a template for the new designs to come but it was fun to come up with a little something in the few hours I had off from class and school.
Spring is coming and summer is going to to be filled with some more no slow jams sixties inspired sundresses! Here are some things for now.
Enjoy:)
Elektra

Some styles I threw together before school.

Because school is my life right now.

In desperate need of a vacation.

Or at least a day to sleep in. Haven't had time to post much but I've just discovered the blogger app so I'm hoping to post more often from here on out. Lets start now!
In the meantime how had your month been?

My Mary- A Short Story

        I locked the front door, all three locks, the backdoor, the windows, the garage, the door to the garage, and the gate that leads to the garden. I got a telegram from Mary's head doctor at the sanitarium about an hour ago. Susan should be home any minute now, the best thing to do is wait by the front door and peak through the drapes every other moment to make sure she makes it in safely. I am assuming she has had an extended day at the factory, she's usually there for a 10 hour shift, but sometimes she has to stay longer to the hem the shirts that weren't finished in the day's work. At least, I hope they are keeping her there longer. Which would give me more time to turn Mary in if she dares to come back.

      She's been locked away for almost three years now. Three years to a schizophrenic round out to feel like 10. I can't imagine the trickery she's thought of in the amount of time to find me to place revenge. We had been married for 13 years, I filed for divorce when I came home one evening to blood strewn in drips about the living room, smears against the walls our 8 month old son sitting in the middle of the carpet screaming with a bloody nose. Mary was passed out on the couch with a bottle of vodka dangling from her hands. Later on when I started to pack her belongings for the hospital I found an opium pipe, which was safe to conclude was something she had been regularly using.

         I had my sister pick Earnest, my son, to bring him to our parent's house.She has just left after I walked her to the car. I gave my son a kiss on the forehead and told him I loved him like I never had said it before. In return he told me he was going to eat candy at Nana's and Pop Pop's, I said it was fine. But only this one time. It's difficult to arrange a stable, disciplined household for a little boy with a smile like his, if it weren't for Susan he would get everything he ever wanted in the world.

         Mary knows that I am remarried now, but I don't think she is aware of it. Like a fantasy story told to her as she drifts into sleep, a story she eventually forgets the next morning. Mary and I met at a small brasserie in Paris. We were both there for the war, I was an engineer for the brute tanks that intimidated the Germans. She was a petite firecracker, singing and dancing for the troops, occasionally letting a thigh slip out from underneath her petticoat as she bit her lip and graced her breast with a snow white glove. I thought of Shakespeare when I saw this for the first time "Oh how I would like to be that glove". But after a few years of her flirtatious behavior, that glove, that lip and that thigh, I realized would never be mine. Instead I shared it with half of the men of Paris and California when we later moved back home, just as I did the first time I had laid eyes on her.

        It never crossed my mind that she would be trouble.My mother hated her and my sister couldn't bear to be in the same room as her, but I was assured that there was something that they were refusing to see in her. At one point I accused my mother of being jealous of Mary. Oh boy, that did not go over well.

        When I had Mary put in the hospital, it was not only for my own good, or the well being of my son, but because I was in love with Mary. I'm still in love with the Mary I once met and Susan knows this. This is one of the only reasons why we argue, with everything else, we get along peachy. I honestly thought Mary would get better over her time at the sanitarium. Though her electro-shock therapy has shown no progress. She was visited by Walter Freeman a year ago to conduct a lobotomy that only gave Mary the impression that she was God. Now she is on the lose. Penniless, even if she had money I would imagine that she would have no pockets to put it in if she escaped in her patients uniform. She had no place to go, her parents has disowned her when she put herself in the entertainment industry. Her sister is a nun that claims to be a sister to no one else but God. Which could be Mary's reasoning for embodying Christ in order to win her sister back. 

The sad thing is, even though all the doors are locked, as soon as I see Mary's stark indian eyes staring at me from the porch the locked will turn unhinged. I could never turn Mary away. Always in the back of my head I know one day she will get better and possibly she will turn back into the old Mary that I used to love, the Mary that loved me back. Even if I did have to share her, I would be content knowing that the pillow next to mine is where she would chose to rest her head, and if I'm lucky I could somehow swindle my arms around her and grace her soft porcelain breast.

         God knows that when Mary shows up to my door I will swing open the door and embrace her as if my Mary had come back from the dead. Luckily I don't have to succumb to my vice. I waited by the door the entire evening. When Susan came home I didn't tell her about Mary's escape. Instead I ate dinner on the couch and told her it was because I waned to listen to the radio, although the last thing I wanted to do was distract myself with famous vocalists singing renditions of old Gershwin songs.

          Mary never showed up. It's been a week now and she hasn't even tried to contact me. Perhaps she's really gone this time, the doctors can't seem to find her, I've put out a missing persons report which has no leads. Knowing Mary she most likely met a man that fell for her charm and collapsed into loving her. Another shmuck like me. Susan will happy about this news. From here on I can possibly sleep a night without thinking of my Mary. Possibly.

Tom Boucher- A Short Story

"Honey, quick question. Do you know where we keep the windex?" Tom says as he peeks his head through the door.

"Did you try under the sink?" Claire keeps her eyes on the detailed quilt she is making for the couple's new arrival. 

"Why would it be there?"

The motor of the sewing machine comes to a halt.

Claire frumps her eyebrows  and jolts her head back so Tom can get a good glimpse of her frustrated confusion "Why wouldn't it be there?"

"Okay, I'll check there. Thanks sweetheart." He knows there is no use in fighting about the location of cleaning supplies while his wife is 8 months pregnant with what seemed to a man of 22 years to be purely hormones. The journey of Claire's pregnancy has left out the thought that when the 9 months are over Tom will be a father. Instead he has filled his days with work, school, doctors appointments, trips to the drug store, forgetting something at the drug store and having to go back, the drug store not having mint chocolate chip Dryer's ice cream and only an off brand so he has to go to the gas station to check. Tom spends his nights making sure the dishes are done, the house is clean, the TV isn't too loud, the cat box is changed, keeping up the stamina to stay away from the video games and explaining that it would only be for 5 minutes when caught by Claire. 

When Tom looks in the mirror he no longer sees the young man he used to be a mere 8 months ago but a machine working against the odds of a hormonal pregnancy. 

"Honey" Tom peers through the door again.

"Don't call me 'honey' when I'm frustrated, you know that." 

"I'm sorry-um- Claire. I just didn't see the windex under the sink, do you think we have another spot for it?" 

"Not unless were out." 

"Should I get more? I think I have to go out anyway to get some more pickles and ice cream." 

"Sure. Wait. No. Wait. What are you even using for? What are you doing?" 

"I'm just cleaning up the bathroom a little bit before the baby gets here" Tom tries to throw in a joke. " It's like a port-o-potty in there"

"If it is it's because of you"

Tom, dejected, closes the portal to his sparse interactions for the day. Claire continues to fiddle with her machine, now looping threads an inch over the fabric. 

"God damn it, the tension is all fucked." She turns a knob, flips a switch and finally cuts the thread to relieve the quilt of the foot's hold. Upon opening the door to the bobbin, mounds of dust clouds are caught up in the mechanics. "Fucking fuck." She takes a deep breath to holler "Tom. Tom?"

Rushing footsteps grow loader as he reaches the door and swings it open like a knight in shining armor.

"Are you okay, Honey? Everything alright, do you need something?"

"This fucking machine is all fucked and- do you know where the little blower thingy is?"

"Blower thingy? Blow dryer?"

"No, why the hell would I need that? 'oh no my machine is broken, might as well break out the hair dryer!'. Jeez, you know what I'm talking about the thing for the computer, with the red tube thingy"

"You keep saying 'thingy' as if it-"

"Damn it, Tom. You're not helping. Can you just try to help, please? For once?"

"Okay, I honestly don't know what you're talking about"

Claire takes a deep breath and stares into Toms eyes, clenching her jaw. "The can of air that one uses to blow dust out of a keyboard. Does that help?"

"Oh yeah! The blower thingy!" Claire winces at his reaction as Tom opens a drawer unveil the thingy.

"I can't find it, I must've thrown it out when we moved"

"Really? Are you kidding?" Claire throws her arms out. Claire means this to be confrontational but Tom can only look at the open arms as a memory of a time they were once used to embrace each other. 

"I'm sorry. What do you need it for? maybe I can help?"

"No, I can do it. I don't always need you to do things for me" Claire denies Tom as she turns back to her machine sitting on a vanity desk with a decorative mirror. Tom is left with a grim reflection of his current life in which Claire sits between two machines. He tries to catch a glimpse of eye contact through the mirror with Claire while she tries to pick the clumps of dust out of the bobbin hole with tweezers. She finally notices the bags under Tom's eyes swell and as he release a tear. Claire seems to be void of any thought before thinking.

"What? What's wrong now?" When Tom doesn't answer she turns to face him. "What? Why are you crying? I should be crying! I'm stuck in this house all of the time wondering where you are. Do you know how fucking lonely I am? Do you know what it's like to have all of your friends drop you because you've gained the extra weight of a baby? Do you know what it's like to wonder who you are because you spend your entire life figuring out who somebody else is?" Claire is at the edge of her seat for an answer. "Huh? Do you? No! You have no fucking clue what it's like to be me. I hate this fucking-"

"Shut up!" Tom finally cracks and spills himself onto Claire. "You, HONEY, have no idea how much time, money, energy, love and caring I spend on only you. I am so fucking lonely. I don't know what it's like to have my friends drop me, but I do know what it's like to have to drop all of my friends because you made me do it when we first moved in together. You said I couldn't have Adam be my best man at our wedding. We have been blood brothers since grade school, he couldn't even come!"

"Oh my god, Tom. Adam is an idiot he would have come drunk, got everyone coked out and probably would have made an awkward toast and then try to make out with my mom" 

"Claire, you can be such a bitch sometimes. He's nothing like that you're over-"

"I'm a what? I'm a what? A bitch? Well you know what Tom? Fine, I'm leaving!" Claire jumps up to pack a petty hand purse. 

Tom quickly jumps back onto his tightrope. 

"Claire, no I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. Look" Tom tries to mold Claire's hand into his. "Claire, listen. I'm sorry. I love you. I don't want you to be lonely. It's my fault. I didn't mean to" Claire snatches her hand away and continues to pack. Tom pounces back with another approach " Please, Claire. I'll do anything. Tell me. You can't leave- I need you." Claire gives up and begins to bawl. 

"I just wanted to finish this fucking blanket before the baby came." Tom wraps his hand around her head to bring her closer and envelopes her with the other. Tom brings his voice down as if he were talking to a child. 

"Shhhh. It'll get done. I promise." He begins to stroke her raven black hair." I hired some little mice and birds to come and finish it for you're too busy making a baby with your body" He feels a little puff of warm air on his forearm. He begins to smile just knowing he still could make her laugh, let alone that her arms were again being used to hug him back.