Thursday, March 6, 2014

Think Out Loud [45] Stories are everywhere.

I had to go to the old building today. My sister calls it a castle because of the brick exterior and the tower. I don't tell her it's a decommissioned school straight out of one of my nightmares. I treat the place with a healthy dose of respect because at any moment I'll have to run like I did in the dream I had so many years ago but still never forgot. 

Inside, the bright cream walls, large windows, and countless lights vaporize ghostly images of cracked green paint and near zombie like teachers. A cheery blond woman behind the security desks asks me what I'm there for. I tell her I'm getting my badge, the final step to be a substitute para in the schools...my new job. I match her cheerfulness because the dream is gone like faraway smoke and I'm not late. I'm always late. I pat my pocket because my old paperback is in a ziplock bag just waiting for me to have a long wait time. She assumes I know where to go because I've been there before for orientation and fingerprinting. I don't know where to go because I never know where to go. I smile and repeat her directions in the hopes my brain will hold on to the information and I won't go wandering like the previous times. 

Two steps down the hall and I'm taken back to my grandma's house. I take a deep breath, feel the emotion of going from nightmares to one of my favorite places in the world. I fight the last time I saw her house, empty, owned by people who never swing on the best porch swing ever, who let newspapers decorate the old boards in front of the door instead of bright purple and red petunias, her favorites. And I think of a character experiencing this strange smell, this old place. I decide she's 14 and pissy. Those two go together well. "What is that smell?" Not a hint of food, not a whisper of conversation. A cemetery has more life. She wonders if her grandmother saved all the cooking and visiting for the summer when her grandkids came to visit. I decide she cares about this, that she wants her grandmother to have big meals and noise even when no one else is there. She looks at the carpet and thinks hardwood floors are hiding beneath and that's the smell. "Musty? What the fuck is musty anyway?" So my protagonist has a mouth on her. I can live with that. 

I reach the stairs with soft feet because my natural inclination is to stomp. These are great stomping steps. I think of the janitor at my old art school. "Robyn, you walk those stairs like you weigh 500lbs." We chatted all the time. I tiptoe now in life, sh, don't see me. I'm just passing through. I can't decide if my character will start where I am and work toward making noise. 

All this passes through my mind in the few minutes it takes me to walk from my car to the old building, up three flights of stairs. I don't get to read my book at all because I'm on time. I realize as I sit on the stool in front of the camera "badge" meant picture badge. I sniffle a little and shrug. Bad pictures are cool too.

12 comments:

  1. Wow Robyn, that's some powerful thinking. Memrories can be really fascinating.

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    1. Smells always bring back the most detail. I just realized almost always a smell (good or bad) triggers a wonderful memory. I hope you have a great weekend, Ki!

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  2. Amazing, Robyn. Memories are everywhere. We carry them with us and are so powerful like your story here. I loved it. :)

    Thanks for sharing.

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    1. I was just thinking this morning that I hold on too much, but all artists do that, right? We dwell because it's too good. Waste not, want not. means something different to us.

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  3. Robyn, you...well, I'd have to sit here for awhile to come up with the right words. You know that about me, right? It takes me awhile to work up the words. You impress, amaze, astound me with your words, your talent. Isn't it incredible what memories, whether they're happy or frightening, can conjure? <3 And you use them to create. *sigh*

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    1. Thank you, Brandee. As obsessive as I was over art back in school (we're talking 2 or 3 all-nighters a week completely devoted to whatever project), I never loved it the way I love creating stories and building characters.

      Your words are very good too, Brandee. I've fallen into your posts so much my family doesn't ask anymore what made me laugh or sniffle.

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  4. Wow that was a great post! Imaginations and dreams are wonderful things :) You have my imagination sparking and I am itching to write right now!!

    Chanzie @ Mean Who You Are.

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    1. Yay! There is nothing like having your creativity sparked, even if all you're doing is jotting down thoughts on napkins, it's exciting stuff. Oh, and you have an awesome blog! I just stopped by.

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  5. I love how even recounting a memory brings out the writer talent in you. Amazing! So you have a new job? I'm sorry I don't know, but what's a para? I understand how you feel about your grandma's house, too. I sometimes drive by my grandparents' old house, and it's sad knowing they aren't there and someone else is. (Both my grandparents have passed away). I really felt like I was there in the building with you.

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    1. It's the worst going by the house of a loved one who's gone now! And yet the compulsion is too strong to resist sometimes. What the heck is that about? I'm sorry about your grandparents. Smells take me back in the most detail, but that's the way our brains work. Must be a prehistoric survival mechanism.

      Oh, a para is a teacher's aid, usually for special needs students or students who need a bit more help. I have some training in April and then I'll be a Special Education Para Educator. They flitter around the room or stay close to one or two assigned students. They're the extra hands and soothing (stern) voice to guide the kids back to task at hand. I'm indebted to a few of the paras Will had through the years. I'll just be a sub to start with. I wanted to write a post all about it and gush, but I'm nervous as heck. What if I don't like it? What if I shine at it, but then suck at being a mom when I get home? But it's all fuel for my imagination at least!

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    2. Speaking of smells, I have a really cool story about that. Back when I was pregnant with Jack in the summer of '09, my sister came over one day. Janie sat on the arm of the chair my sister was sitting on, and out of nowhere said, "You smell like Grandma Gibson's apartment, Shelly." My sister and I smelled her shirt, and it really did! Our grandma died when Janie was four years old, and when she told us this, she was six. I couldn't believe Janie remembered the smell of Grandma's apartment, which was a mixture of coffee and all kinds of good smelling stuff Grandma had in her apartment. That moment brought tears to our eyes.

      You're going to be a terrific, kick ass para! I think that's a perfect job for you with the experience and compassion you have, and you'll be just as great a parent if not even more so. I know it. :)

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    3. That is a wonderful story! I can just see that moment.How amazing that Janie immortalized your grandma like that at such a young age. Your grandma sounds like she was a real neat lady!

      Thank you for the good words. They were a total "you're gonna do good" hug!

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