Depth

Would that the depth of what we wished to write extended beyond the finite dimensions of the page, opening the world of our minds to those around us.  Wishing to peel back the scalp to prove the length and breadth of ones soul, as if even that had some fathomable, discernible limit of depth that we could use as a marker.  A marker that while hoping to label our voracity in verbosity would signify the true depth of our intention and love.

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There's a sense of waking, but my eyes won't open and I can't hear anything, no crinkle of sheets, no cars in the street.  I have a sense of touch but as if its far away, like having to reach for the feeling.  I have a memory of being overwhelmed by sensation, colors exploding, noises deafening, textures before I touch them.  I'm not floating, definitely still, aware.  My conscious mind seeks for a still place all the while, my unconscious wants to work, eat, live, love, explore.  Just out of reach are the objects I remember, the people I care about, the places I've seen.  I tell my limbs to act, to go there, willing motion but denied a connection between what is real and imagined.  Is it a dream, a sleepless dream?  Or am I dead and is this all there is?  Wasn't there suppose to be more?  I think to some purpose and direction my life needs to be moving towards.  My wandering in the dark, bumping into walls takes more will than the stillness.  Darkness ebbs, light filters in through the loose thread count of my percale universe.  Steady breathing is calming and the denial, while momentary, is far to fleeting to be useful.   My covers descend, the day begins, again.

Robin

The hurricane lasted for a day and a night.  The treehouse swayed with the old oak that nestled it in the crook of its trunk like branches.  Whoever had built it was a true carpenter ensuring the safety of the children it was meant for.  The floor space measured the full 4x8 sheet of plywood, moldings, cased windows and a small hung door.  It was tight as the boats that bobbed in the inland waterway.  Robin knew to open the windows a crack to equalize the pressure from the storm.  She had always listened to grownups, measuring responses, filing away important snippets of intelligence that might someday be helpful.  She was starting to get hungry.  The money she had panhandled only bought food for a day and a half.  It was difficult to scrounge what she needed, healthy food and not junk.  Despite the niceties of her nest, it wasn't wired or plumbed.  The bushes in the large back yard were very accommodating but refrigeration couldn't be roughed.  She cracked the door to peer outside.  It was still windy and the tail of the hurricane was making its landfall.  She dropped the climbing rope, donned her backpack and put foot to earth for the first time since it began.  She visited the Camellia bushes, then made her way around the house and to the street.  There were shingles everywhere and other debris that had been blown in from the coast or from neighboring homes.  This neighborhood was gentrified then foreclosed, so that most of the homes were empty, great for an enterprising squatter.  Robin had chosen her spot carefully, choosing not to takeover the house because she saw a family taken away by the police for squatting next door.  Her nest was an unnoticed backyard fixture.  She made her way through the alley ways instead of the main streets to avoid people and police.  Her food had been stolen twice traveling on the main roads.  She slowed as she came to the end of the alley, peered around the corner and saw the line out the door of the food bank.  If she waited, all the fresh food would be gone.  Without any way to cook food, fresh was important or the dregs of odd pantry items like whole wheat Melba toast, assortments of pickled things and pantry staples like flour and canned goods.  Once, a drunk had stumbled out of the casino and given her a five spot.  She had invested the whole thing in a really good can opener which had seriously saved her life time and time again.  Her hands were small and lacked the strength needed to use a cheaper opener.  She scooted across the street into the alley that adjoined the food bank.  Sometimes, there was food that even the poor wouldn't eat.  This food made its way to the dumpster.  She edged up to the big green bin.  She banged on the side of it, in case there was the odd critter or varmint helping itself to an easy meal.  She used one of the discarded plastic milk crates as a step stool to look inside.  Pineapples!  A treasure of mouth watering goodness.  The smell of the over ripe pineapples mixed with the other decaying food underneath.  Grocery stores sell the pineapples green, then send them to the food bank when they ripen and the food bank gives them out until they go bad.  The great thing is that most people don't know when that is, so several good ones make it into the garbage.  She climbed into the dumpster being careful not to scuff up her knees.  She picked through the pineapples, finding two really good ones.  Underneath were dusty boxes of Kashi cereal, which she left for the rats and  Cornichons, most jars broken from the flight into the bin.  Two pineapples and a jar of baby pickles.  She pulled herself up and over the side of the bin, backpack shouldered, and hit the pavement with the ease of a cat.  Back across the street and through the alley, she made it back to her neighborhood unscathed.  She checked the street for eyes, when she was convinced nobody was watching, Robin darted into the yard.  Camellia and something variegated lined the house, and a turkey fig marked the edge of the backyard.  As she passed, Robin noticed a lump under the canopy that undulated with movement.  She crouched under the branches into the cool of the shaded umbrella of huge leaves.  As she got closer, she could see it was a bird nest with two baby birds.  The birds were covered with fire ants.  She saw a few feet away was the mother bird, a Robin.  It was too late for the babies but the marauding soldiers hadn't made it to the mother.  She could see it was hurt, maybe in shock or a broken wing because it was on its side and made no attempt to protect the nest or fly away.  Robin scooped it up and nestled it into the front through pocket of her stained, red Cardinals sweat shirt.  She laughed to herself for the irony.  She scaled the rope and pulled it in.  She took off her backpack and put her food on a corner table.  With the bird in mind, she wished that she had taken a box of Kashi.  She took off her scarf and twirled it around to make a wool nest, placed the bird inside and hoped for the best.  The next morning, she woke.  The bird was still where she left it, but in more of a sitting position.  She filled the cap of the water bottle with water and edged it to the wary bird.  It looked at Robin quizzically and didn't drink.  Robin sat back against the wall wondering about the bird.  She and  her nest must have been dislodged from the branches during the hurricane.  While she was thinking, the bird put its beak into the water.  This was encouraging, hope in an otherwise blustery gray day.  She popped out of here home and went at a jog back to the dumpster for the cereal.  When she got there, a garbage truck was just two stops down the alley from the one she was interested in.  Normally she was not a brave person, being brave is a hazard to being careful.  She ran across the street and vaulted into the dumpster.  Pineapple leaves sliced into her legs and hands.  She reached for one of the dusty boxes and peaked out of the bin to see where the truck was.  A woman was standing in the back door of the food bank.  She was bright eyed and had a pleasant face framed with black hair salted with gray at her temples.  She saw Robin and looked at the garbage truck poised to scoop up the dumpster.  Robin wondered in that split second if the woman would let her and the garbage cascade into the bowels of its crushing machinery.  The woman stepped into the alley and flagged the truck to halt its progress.  The big green behemoth stopped with a wishing sound of it air breaks.  She turned and walked over to the bin and peered in.  Robin was kneeling in the muck amidst rotting pineapples.  A sadness crossed her face then determination as she extended a hand to Robin.  Robin eased up and out of the bin with the woman's help, a death grip on the Kashi box.  The woman led Robin into the back of the food bank and to a bare metal counter in the industrial kitchen.  The woman offered Robin a stool and sat.  Robin had to jump up onto the stool, her small frame dwarfed by the size of things in the spotless, gleaming, brushed, metal kitchen.  She sat still for a moment then started to fidget.  The woman smiled and said, "My name is Joy.  I am the director of the food bank.  Can I get you a box of food to take back to your family?"  Robin looked at her with indifference.  She usually stonewalled adults, especially adult authority figures.  Robin had a funny feeling about this woman, disarming or maybe honest.  Either way, she would remain silent until she decide when to open up.  She thought about the bird waiting back in the treehouse and shifted her seat with impatience.  Joy said, "May I know your name?"  She waited with an expectant look that amused Robin enough to crack a smile in her otherwise chiseled facade.  Joy took it as a sign and said, "I want you to have something before you leave.  Will you wait for a minute while I get it?"  Joy stood up, hoping to get a nod.  When none was forthcoming she left the room.  The kitchen door swung back on its hinges as she left to reveal a glimpse inside the food bank.  Shelves of food, all kinds flashed before Robin's eyes in that split second.  She knew she had stayed too long.  She hopped off the stool and went for the alley.  As she stepped onto the street, Joy came back through the swinging door, "Wait! take this before you go."  Robin turned around.  Joy was in the door with her arm stretched out.  She was holding a cell phone.  Robin looked at her funny.  Extravagant gifts from stranger were definitely a sign to go.  Joy said, "Please.  Its a throw away.  Use it only if you want or for an emergency.  Just press 'one' to call me and I will come or you can dial 911 to get the police or an ambulance."  Robin looked at the phone and back to Joy.  She was self reliant but maybe having another plan in case of emergency wasn't a bad idea.  She reached for the phone, Joy place it in her hand and smiled.  Robin turned on a dime and high-tailed it back to the treehouse.  She pulled herself back inside. There was another blow coming on and the clouds were very dark and foreboding.  She looked into the corner to see the Robin.  It was covered with fire ants.  The line of soldiers were coming in from a knot hole in the wall.  They had smelled death.  She knew there was no getting rid of them once they were established.  She rolled up her sleeping bag, put the pineapples and pickles into her backpack.  In her pocket was the phone.  It felt heavy, unnatural.  She felt in her pocket and pulled out the cell.  She thought about the safety of her treehouse, the anonymity and freedom she found in loneliness.  Loneliness.  She pushed the 'one', held it up to her ear and waited.  "This is Joy."  Robin said, "Hello."

Vanilla Kate

They could here the ice cream truck as its jingle tune echoed through the streets.  The game of kickball abruptly ended and a mad dash ensued.  Most ran home for money, the rest ran towards the sound, plink-itty-planky-jingle-jangle-jingle.  Kate knew when the truck came and was always sure to have a dollar for the ice cream truck.  This helped guarantee her a place at the front of the line.  Sometimes she would get there first.  You never waited for it to drive down your street because sometimes it would skip around and miss yours.  Kate was fast, a head taller than most of the boys, she easily out stride her male counterparts.  All except Jimmy.  He was just as tall, mostly because his parents had him held back a year in school.  This put a chip on his shoulder and made him the neighborhood bully.  First in line went to the fastest but it made your life easier to to slow up and let Jimmy have the lead.  Kate knew she was well ahead of Jimmy since she was already playing outfield when she heard the jingle.  She rounded a hedge and saw the prize.  The ice cream truck was a white panel van with a large section cut out of the side.  It was riddled with decal stickers, larger than life size, of all the creamy, cold confections it sold.  The back of the truck got closer and closer as it slowed to make the next left down the other street.  Kate put on a burst of speed, hoping the driver would see her in his side mirror.  She looked over her shoulder to see the progress of the others.  Jimmy cut across the street and went between two houses to head off the truck on the next street over.  Kate knew she could catch it before then.  The truck came to a complete stop, then made its turn.  The house on the corner had tall grass for a house on this block, everybody knew the height limit as required by the Neighborhood Beautification Committee.  The truck made its turn and was passing out of sight.  Kate rounded the corner just after the truck, then something reached out and grabbed her foot.  She felt gravity take over as she splayed her arms out to break her fall.  She turned her head as cheek met grass with a hard thump.  She let the shock of the fall pass and looked up just in time to see the ice cream truck make the next turn.  She stood up and brushed herself off.  She turned and looked down to see a sprinkler head peering through the tall grass.  She resumed her route, jogging now since there was no way to catch it.  She was right, as she rounded the corner, the truck was stopped four houses down where Jimmy had cut through to intercept it.  Not only that, but the rest of the herd had followed him.  The line was complete, except for Kate, who took the end spot.  She was still breathing hard as Jimmy past her with a Power Bomb Pop.  He stopped and looked at her, his lips stretched over the fluted cylinder of red, white and blue.  He made a wet, slurpy sound as he dragged it out of his mouth. Whatcha say, slowpoke, vanilla again," he said?
Kate with a blank face of indifference said, "yes."
"Vanilla Kate, same as you ever were.  Why don't you try something different for a change.  I mean, if you insist on being last in line, you could at least use the time to pick something better than plain old vanilla", he said with a sneer.
Kate knew that crack was about the race and not the ice cream.  He knew she was faster and just wanted to goad her about the loss. Everybody stood around  the truck to eat because you could get a Dixie cup of ice cold water when you were finished.  Kate finally made it to the front but before she got her mouth open to ask for vanilla, Jimmy appeared beside her and said, "Rocky Road Rocket Pop, please!"
"No," Kate said.
The ice cream man must have had a long day, he looked at Kate with little patience, the cold vapor from the open freezer chest swirling around his head.
"Maybe, a Mega Berry Blast Bar," Jimmy offered to the ice cream man.
"No," yelled Kate!
The ice cream man said, "Look, do you want ice cream or not?"
"She wants vanilla, plain old vanilla for plain old Kate," Jimmy exclaimed to the whole group.  They all laughed at her with Jimmy.  She liked vanilla, found the other flavors to be an assault on her taste buds.  Vanilla was clean and smooth with a richness that caressed the throat all the way down.  It was plain and so was Kate in her own way, but she didn't care.  Kate announced to the ice cream man, "Vanilla Bar, please."  This seemed to lighten the mood even more as an affirmation of Jimmy's indictment, whooping laughing and cat calling continued.  Kate had started to feel the effects of this treatment and have second thoughts about ice cream all together when the ice cream man made a suggestion.  While the others were still laughing and pointing, he said very clearly to her in a quiet voice, "We have a new product that I think you will like if I could offer a suggestion."  There was something different in his voice, a patience that said he had been the butt of someones joke in his life.  "Its called Vanilla Surprise."  At this point she just wanted the moment to be over and shook her head yes.  He reached into the cooler and pulled out a packet of goodness, stripped the paper off, wrapped the stick with a napkin and handed over a smooth, white oval.  She took it.  It looked just the same as what she always got.  She gave him a quirky look and said, "Thank you?"  The ice cream man said, "Trust me."  He started filling Dixie cups with water as the group finished their ice cream.  Kate had just started as everyone else made their way back to the kickball field.  Final insults seemed to be the way of things with Jimmy having the last word, "Vanilla Kate."  Kate took her time getting back.  She was determined to visibly enjoy her vanilla, not that anybody noticed.  The game resumed and she took up her position in the outfield.  There were more than enough people to cover her if a ball came her way.  The cold of the vanilla coated her mouth with goodness lick after lick.  Suddenly the vanilla gave way to a gooey cherry center, with real Bing cherries.  It reminded her of cherry pie ala mode.  Vanilla Surprise for sure!  She lapped each gooey bite until the stick was all that remained.  The chill of the ice cream cooled her in the waining hours of the hot day.  Jimmy was up and yelled to Kate, "Coming your way Vanilla Kate!"  Kate smiled thinking how true it was, laughed to herself and yelled back, "Let it fly Bomb Pop Boy!"