Ganymeder

This year, in honor of the ALA’s Banned Books Week, I will write a review of a challenged book I recently read. For anyone unfamiliar with Banned Books Week, the American Library Association uses the last week of each September to call attention to our right to intellectual freedom and the necessity of vigilence to keep that freedom alive.

Review of America by E.R. Frank
SPOILERS BELOW: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

The first thing I have to admit is that I can completely and totally understand WHY this book was challenged.  There is a ton of profanity and child sexual abuse throughout the book. But having said that, it’s also probably one of the most well written and thought provoking books I have ever read in my life. I would not personally recommend this book for children, because it’s very disturbing, but I would definitely recommend it to adults.

The story starts in the middle, told from the point of view of a young, disturbed, institutionalized youth.  It’s told in his thought patterns and memories, how he reacts to the people and situations around him, what he thinks is happening.  From the middle of this young boy’s life the story progresses in snapshot memories of his childhood until the end of the book when he’s older and a more adjusted member of society.  The way the story unfolds is captivating, if not heartbreaking, because you see how tragedy destroys his childhood and innocence, how he “got lost in the system,” how he blamed himself and what he thought about what happened to him. You think you know what messed him up even though he gets “rescued” from his neglectful mother, only to find out that the situation he’s brought into is both better (his Mrs. Harper) and much, MUCH worse. It makes the flashbacks to his early childhood that much more powerful, because you know that love and innocence is destined for a terrible end.

Luckily, the book does have a happier ending.  Lucky for me at least because otherwise I probably would have been crying for the next month.  This book gripped me like very few have, and I am not at all sorry I read it- especially because I think facing pain and trouble are an important part of life. It made me want to reach out to abused children. The only thing I could fault the book for is that in the end, I was left wondering “What can I do?”… and that was also it’s biggest strength.

Other Articles about Banned Books Week:

American Library Association: Banned Books Week

Mur Lafferty’s “I Should Be Writing” blogpost about “Banned Book Week.

“Stacked (blog): Thoughts on Censorship

Tablet: A new read on Jewish life (complete with a wonderful anticensorship poem)

FALLING…

She looked up at the receding city and opened her arms wide.  The wind roughly caressed her cheek and stung her eyes as the white inverted dome retreated from view, growing ever smaller among the clouds. Her golden halo of hair lashed wildly about her face as she faced the approaching ground once more.  She fell through the heavens, her gown spread behind her like great white wings.

The thundering air in her ears whispered sweet seductions as it whipped past. She felt no fear, though she knew she could not fall forever. Her lover would never permit that. She smiled at his embrace and leaned back into his body as it coalesced around her. They joined hands, and with arms still spread wide, they flew together back to the great metropolis.

**

I’ve been thinking about writing a story about falling from a floating city for awhile.  This started out as something quite different which evolved over time.   It took on a life of it’s own, though I realize it’s pretty short.  I hope you like it.

September 18, 2009.

The Melting Man

The dumpster behind the convenience store was no different from any other, except for the body that wasn’t inside.

If a police report hadn’t been filed saying exactly that, no one would have been surprised. As things stood though, the officer was pissed. “I can’t believe there’s no-one here! If this was some sort of crank call…”

“Relax, Doris, we’ll get to the bottom of this,” said her partner.

“Roy, maybe we should…oh, sir, have you been in this area for long? We’re going to need to ask you some questions,” she said to the man that approached them.

“What’s the situation, Officer?” he said.

“Who the hell are you?” asked the woman.

The man flashed a badge from beneath his cream colored trenchcoat. “Officer Bart, ma’am. Just in the area and decided to follow up when I heard the call on the radio.”

“Well, we got a call, but there’s nothing unusual here… I don’t remember hearing your name before. You new to the precinct?” asked Officer ‘Roy.’

Beneath the brim of his fedora, the man grinned, while Doris continued looking around the dumpster.

Roy looked at him, laughed nervously, and continued. “Anyway, just garbage here. No blood, no bodies. It’s probably a crank. So no harm done.”

“Except to my patience!” said Doris. The man pointed at her feet.

“And what the hell did I step in? What’s this oily stuff?” she cried, touching the heel of her leather shoes. “They’re ruined!”

“Well, Doris, making a false police report is a crime, but…,” Roy stopped suddenly. “What’s wrong?”

Her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of terror as she looked at her oil covered hand. It was as if the oil was alive, spreading across her entire body. Where it touched, her body faded, as though she were being dissolved from existence. Her scream melted away as she looked, horror struck, from the man to Roy.

“What the hell?…” cried Roy, reaching for her. When her colorless shadow reached back to him, he pulled back instinctively, afraid. He turned to the man that stood in the dark beside the metal bin. “What the hell happened?” he cried. “What was that stuff?”

The man’s smile was barely visible. “Do you mean the oil?” he asked. “Oh, it’s nothing really. Let me show you.” He removed his glove to grasp Roy’s palm firmly. Roy looked at the oily residue left behind by the creature’s hand. He tried to scream, but his effort was lost as he was erased from reality.

The man-creature smiled into the now empty space around the dumpster. This planet promised to be a lot of fun.

***

*This story is loosely based on a nightmare I had a few days ago. The biggest difference was that I omitted a minor character, because I thought it strengthened the story. I hope you like it.

Tea time Takes Me Away

The shrill sound of the kettle snapped me out of my thoughts.  I walked to the oven and retrieved it, pouring the hot liquid into the prewarmed pot. Tea time always makes me think of my mother.

It was more than the ritual, warming the pot, putting on the kettle.  It was the entire experience.  My mother’s china cup with the pink roses on it.  I used her spoon to stir in sugar, and the delicate silver made a tinkling noise as it brushed against the sides of my cup. HER cup. The fragrant steam enveloped me, taking me back.

*

“Mother, I wish you’d stop doing that.”

“Doing what, dear?” she asked me.

“Hitting the side of the cup. It’s not proper etiquette.”

“Why ever not?” she said, mock surprise written across her face.  Her skin, the grayish sheen that came with age, crinkled around the eyes, as she lifted her cup in one claw-like hand.

“Can you imagine an entire tearoom of people clinking their spoons when they stir?  It’d be pretty noisy.”

“Well,” she’d said, “We’re hardly at the Ritz now, are we?”  She knew I hated that, hated not being able to hobnob with the social elite.  She seemed to relish pointing out that “our kind” were not welcome among “proper” people.

I surveyed the kitchen. Flowery curtains adorned the single window. Cups of wildflowers, weeds really, took up residence in every nook and cranny. I shifted my cup to hide one of the tablecloth’s faded stains. From the stove, the cow shaped novelty kettle stared at me with absurd dignity. “No,” I said, “Obviously not.”

She stopped hiding her grin. “Then stop worrying, for Pete’s sake!  Miss Manners isn’t going to bust down the door! Besides, we have enough tea and jam for a lovely evening.”

“But it’s my birthday!” I whined. “I really would have liked a cake.”

My mother frowned into her cup.  “I’m sorry, dear.  I really am, but I just didn’t have time to get sugar on the way home. We’re going to have your party tomorrow night anyway, so your friends will all be here.”

I pouted.  The graveyard shift was hard on my mother – especially winters when she worked extra long hours.  But I didn’t care.

“They really aren’t that far away,” she said. “It’s just a short flight, and they’ll be here tomorrow night…”

But I guilted her into going out for sugar to make my cake anyway. She put on her cloak and fastened it with an orange pin.   “I’ll be right back,” she said.

But she wasn’t.

I knew what came next, but I was trapped in the past.  I’d spend the next day alone in the kitchen, eyes fixed out the window while I waited for her return.  The next night I’d rush out to find the broken pieces of her life strewn across the sidewalk along with the scattered sugar she’d never brought home. She had taken a shortcut, and if I hadn’t known where to look, she wouldn’t have been found so easily. I picked up shattered stone, because she’d fallen from a great height..

I closed my eyes and willed the past to be different.  I wanted nothing more than to take back my words and ask her to stay.

If only I had said, “Please, don’t go”- she wouldn’t have.  She wouldn’t have run out of time. I said it aloud, just to hear the words echo in the empty kitchen.

“Please, don’t go.”

“Alright, dear. If you really don’t mind, I’ll stay. I was worried about the sun anyway.”

My eyes shot open, and I dropped the cup in my hands.  She quickly bent down to retrieve it’s broken shards.  “Are you alright, Lilith?” she asked, standing up and watching the shock etch across my face. I threw myself around her neck, sobbing, while she held me.  She looked out the window, smiled, and spoke softly before the sun silenced her.  “You were right, dear. It’s nearly daybreak. Time to sleep.”

She wrapped her leather wings about me as she cradled my head on her shoulder. The sun froze us in stony tenderness.

THE END.

*I had a little trouble with this one, so any comments or suggestions would be appreciated. Thanks!

The Field Trip

Kate clutched her sketchbook in her arms and stared. The way the sculptor brought life to stone always amazed her. The girl with roses in her hair seemed so real. She reached out with one hand to touch the cold lips but pulled back reflexively when the Professor called her.

“Kay!” he shouted across the room. “Anytime now, hon. The rest of the class has moved on, but if you like we can all wait on you.”

Jerk, Why does he have to embarrass me in front of everyone?, Kate thought. She only answered, “Sorry! I’m coming!” Crossing the room, she ignored the eyes of her peers to glance back at the marble maiden. Did she just move?

No, she answered herself. I must be stressed. I’m seeing things.

The empty eyes of the ivory girl followed her.

*

Kate looked at the postcard, remembering the field trip. She’d always loved the Museum. She went as often as possible, especially since college students didn’t need to pay. Roaming the granite halls, she spent hours lost in paintings, plaster, and marble. But something about this particular statue peaked her interest. Since it’s arrival only the month previous, she’d been somewhat obsessed with it. She fantasized that the stone girl wanted to tell her something, if only Kate could reach her. She imagined the right strokes on pale paper breaking a spell and bringing her to life.

She wasn’t a great artist, which she admitted to anyone that asked. Nevertheless, she signed up for every drawing, painting, or other creative class she could. She wasn’t bad. She just wasn’t very good. The idea of bringing to life an idea or story had always attracted her. Maybe her current fixation was just her mind’s way of telling herself to try her hand at sculpture. Maybe that would reveal her hidden talent, buried inside, waiting to be unleashed by chisel and hammer.

She took another quick look before pinning the photo to the wall. She compared her sketch with the photo. Her graphite roses seemed off, and the girl’s chin wasn’t quite right. There was something missing in her expression, something sad and nameless in the eyes. Well, maybe she’d get it right later or go back tomorrow. Yes, that was the answer. How accurate could she be from just a photo? It was silly, but she felt the girl deserved better.

*

The next day, Kate stepped off the bus, adjusted her pack, and walked through the museum. She’d meant to come earlier in the day, when the lighting would be better, but she’d missed the bus. A friend offered her a ride, then backed out, and after heated words she found herself at the bus stop again. The museum would close soon. There was hardly any point in coming at all.

She walked straight to the statue, looked in its eyes, then pulled a stool from out of the corner. She pulled out her sketchbook and pencil and began to draw.

Free me…

Kate looked up from the pad in her hand. The girl in the statue said nothing. She looked around at the nearly empty room. Patrons were slowly filing out. It must be someone else, Kate thought, bending to her task once more.

Free me…

She looked up quickly. Did she just see those eyes blink? I must be going mad, she scolded herself. She pulled her shawl around her more closely and swore off soda for a week. Too much caffeine played tricks with your mind. She stared at the girl for a full minute before turning her gaze downward.

*

When the light began to dim, she looked up suddenly, shocked out of her reverie. Moving the number 2 in her hand, dusting off the rubber trail of her eraser, smudging the lines on creamy paper had taken her out of time. She had felt nothing and seen no one except the ivory faced girl and the results of her own labor.

She sat alone in the darkened room, empty of all save herself, the stone girl, and a dozen other statues.

A figure came around the corner, stopping to look at Kate.

“What are you still doing here, little girl?” he asked. She winced at the voice behind her. She hated jabs about her age.

“Sorry, sir. I lost track of time. I didn’t mean to stay past closing,” Kate called back, hurriedly packing away her things and slinging her bag over her shoulder. She turned to face the man stepping out of the shadows.

“Professor Alpha? I didn’t know…” her voice trailed off. What was he doing here? Moonlighting?

“You know, I knew the moment I saw you that you were just what I needed,” he said, advancing slowly. Kate retreated involuntarily, her back pressed against the flowing frozen folds of the maiden’s gown. The stone lent her strength. No stalker was going to push her around!

“Wow,” she said, reaching down into her half-closed bag, “I knew you were a rotten teacher. I didn’t know you were a pervert.” She gripped the pencil tightly in her hand, hidden from his view.

“Is that what you think?” he smirked.

Suddenly, Kate felt cold hands on her shoulders. Her spine turned to ice water as she heard the thoughts whispered in her ear.

Free me…

“Hate to tell you this, girly, but I’m not the one you should be afraid of.”

Kate shook, paralyzed with fear.

“You thought you chose her? You wanted to bring her to life!” His smile sliced her in two. “Well, then today’s your lucky day.”

Dread welled up in her as she felt, more than heard, his next words.

“Because SHE chose YOU.”

*

The man and the young girl held hands as they left the statue behind in the darkened room. The empty eyes seemed to follow them, along with a silent sob.

Free me.

***

THE END

*Written for #fridayflash at Twitter. Please let me know what you think. Any suggestions you have would be welcome. Thanks!