Tag Archives: prose

Short Prose

Week 4 – Short Short Letters

Kristin,

I keep thinking about that day, the Friday after mom was brought to the hospital, when we were all sitting in the little waiting room near the ICU listening to the resident doctor explain to us how poor the situation looked in regards to her recovery. I remember you, and me, grasping at hope when ever it managed to poke its head out even a little. I remember that look of fervent determination that you get, that you accredit to mom, that you really got from both of our parents. You wear determination in a way that is similar and different to both of them. I remember thinking that I needed to be strong for you, and now I realize that you were being strong for all of us. I was so distraught I could not even understand that you were the center of strength in the room. I was the vacant, detached, in denial wreck pretending that my behavior would give you strength. I want to thank you for all the questions you asked, all the fierce looks you gave, all the intense hugs you delivered, all the cries, the wales, the stories, and the tears.

Thank you for your strength. Thank you for being her daughter.

-Jake-

~~~

Dear Mom,

I miss you. You’d be proud if you saw how Kristin is handling things. I know you would have worried that she wouldn’t, but she has. She’s managed to be a calm center in all of the things going on since you left. Watching her is like watching you when you were a young woman.

I’m a wreck. I don’t sleep well. I see you everywhere I go. Memories of you and places I saw you have become so mixed up that some times I wonder if I am awake or not. Every day I drive through Tualatin and I see you at every shop, every street corner, every restaurant, every store, and every park I pass. When I leave, I see you on the freeway, clutching to my back as we drive to my place on my motorcycle. At home, I see you playing upstairs with Aage. Downstairs, I see you sitting in the dining room smiling and quietly listening to me tell endless stories. Going home to Sherwood is too intense. I’ve avoided the place ever since you were in the hospital. I still haven’t gone to your condo since you left. I want my last memory there to be that one armed hug I gave you when I dropped you off after a motorcycle ride.

Your loving son,
Jake

~~~

Dear Aage,

I am the all knowing, all seeing Daddy. Get your finger out of there.

Your loving helicopter parent,
Dad

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Short Prose

The Back Side of The Point – Week 1

I’m sitting on the sandy ground, beach grass swaying around me. Missy, my dopey, loving, lab-mutt is sitting next to me. The air smells faintly of old, briny mud, rotting crab meat, and the musky smell that sandy loam exudes when you are sitting on top of it, running your fingers down into its softness, wondering what things it has swallowed and now holds from you. This ground feels isolated and fully mine.

~

I remember returning not long after graduating from high school. My spot on the back side of the point, watching the sun rise over the expanse of Oregon in front of me. The mosquitos are out in force but the toxic smoke from my cigarette keeps them at bay. If only toxic smoke could protect my dog from sand fleas that torment her when ever she lays down close to the water watching for mysterious creatures to emerge from the glassy water of the bay. I can watch her endlessly as she stares intently into the water, waiting, and then laugh a little, inwardly, when she yelps and looks at her own ass, wondering what invisible creature is attempting to consume her. I tell her that she should keep on guard, the little bastards are vicious.

~

I keep looking down the road running along the most westward part of the campground. My point, the point, the place where I can look back on Oregon spreading for what seems like eternity, is at the end of that drive. My mom is cooking my son chocolate chip pancakes. I cannot go, cannot miss this ritual echoing from my childhood to my son, chocolate chip pancakes cooked on a camp stove, my complete happiness in those moments, the complete happiness of my son in this moment…my desire to step away from this moment that will end up being one of my final good ones with her, my mom, to go to my point, the point, and run my fingers through the sandy earth, whisper warnings to my dead friend who guarded us from creatures of the mysterious deep.

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